Over the Hills and Far Away
by Hanson's Angel
Summary: An AU fic of approx. 57,000 words, written for LJ's Big Bang, 2010.  Dean and Sam, hunting and saving the world with the added brotherly bonus of Dean giving Sam one of his kidneys when they're young.  Further details/summary/warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Author: **hansons-angel

**Genre: **Gen

**Rating: **PG-13 for language

**Word Count: **approx. 56,900

**Spoilers/Warnings: **General spoilers for any episode in seasons 1-5. I don't believe in warnings for every little thing, but as for the big triggers - this story does NOT have those. However. **It does have a character death, so if that's upsetting for you to read, please don't read it**.

**Summary: **This isn't a story about the Apocalypse. It's not even really a story about demon hunting and the supernatural, though all these things are featured. It's an AU story about the deep bond that brothers have, and the lengths they'll go to for each other, beginning when Sam and Dean Winchester are children, and Sam needs a kidney transplant. It's not about one brother over the other, but the idea that, without one brother there isn't the other. It's an exploration of sacrifice and unconditional love, the study of what family can mean - what it should mean. It's about love and despair, fear and grief, heroism and ultimately - hope.

**A/N: **Wrote this for LJ's Big Bang in 2010. I no longer have an account over there, and I am not really writing a lot of SPN fic anymore, but I did want to archive this story somewhere, along with my 21 Jump Street story, "The Mission Field." These are the two stories I've written that I'm most fond of, and after some thought, I decided I wanted to put them in a place from where they could always be retrieved. If you do wade through this, remember it is definitely AU, and I wrote the majority of it before the end of S5, some of it before I knew there was going to be a sixth season, so it was definitely Kripke'd. Also, keep in mind I try to be accurate with medical details but I probably have a few slip-ups in this - apologies to anyone who knows more than I do about kidney disease.

**/**

Sam Winchester's entire life has pretty much been about revelations.

Revelations about who he is.

Who he isn't.

His strengths. His weaknesses.

His wants and desires.

Those things he doesn't want any part of.

The fact that he sometimes has no choice in the matter.

And sometimes, the knowledge he has all the choice in the world.

And choice can be as completely meaningless as fate.

There are revelations that creep in unaware, so stealthy that he isn't even sure that they're there until time passes and he thinks back on them and comes to understand that certain things were revealed to him and he just didn't know it.

And then there are revelations that up and smack him in the face from the moment they're present, revelations that are hard and gritty and breath-taking and unimaginable and impossible to linger on, they are that important and forceful, and even more impossible to deny.

There are revelations about what he can do.

What he can't do.

What he's meant to do.

But the biggest revelation Sam Winchester ever receives has nothing to do with who he is, or consequences of choices made or what he can or can't become - though the revelations he has about all those things are very important, no question about it.

The biggest revelation Sam Winchester is blessed with has to do with things being given and things being taken away, how things that are seemingly right are not meant to be, and how things that should be so wrong end up being the best gifts that can ever be given.

**/**

When Sam Winchester is five - and, ironically this is one of Sam's first "real" memories, sitting in a doctor's office with his older brother, Dean off to one side and his father, John on the other, some imposing figure seated behind a big brown desk in front of all of them, delivering the bad news while Sam plays with a toy truck, running it around the big, brown desk and then over Dean's arm, until Dean bats it away and hisses, "Stop it, Sammy," - they find out he has some kind of kidney thing, something called polycystic kidney disease. PKD for short, as Sam comes to understand, as he gets older and the disease becomes more entrenched. He's always had weird - things - throughout his life, fevers that come and go, soar high and then disappear, in a nearly predictable pattern of every six to eight weeks. The fevers gradually become less frequent as he grows a little older but he has other things, pain in his back and sides that appears and disappears, pain that Sam can't even walk through some days, that John chalks up to "the flu." Whenever these "episodes" happen, John ends up carrying Sam to the couch and setting him up in front of the tv while he and Dean bring him glasses of ginger ale and bowls of chicken noodle soup until the pains pass, or at least lessens enough so he can get around again.

He's small for his age, delicate almost, something that his father attributes to Sam "not eating enough," but it's often hard for Sam to eat, either because he's not all that hungry or he's downright nauseous, and if John was paying closer attention to things, he might figure out a pattern to all of it, how the fever precedes the lack of appetite which either coincides or comes right on the heels of the debilitating pains in his side and back. But John doesn't pay terribly close attention, not when whatever ails Sam seems mild enough despite the frequency of it, and he's got other things on his mind, the obsession with tracking down whatever it was that killed Sam and Dean's mom - Mary - always at the forefront.

Because he's around more, it falls on Dean to pay more attention and Dean _does _pay attention, somehow understands that, young as he is, something is not right with Sam, that he's getting "sick" way more than he should, even if it doesn't appear serious. Dean would know; he hardly ever gets sick himself despite the fact that he's in school all day long and has plenty of opportunity. On the days when Sam is hurting or feverish or just plain feels like crap, Dean will bring him whatever he needs without complaint, without saying much of anything, really, but it isn't until later, when Sam is quite a bit older that he understands Dean's grim-faced actions were borne out of equal parts worry and suspicion and annoyance. Worry that something was really wrong with Sam - which there was - suspicion that they weren't doing enough to find out what was really going on - which they weren't - and annoyance at their father for not taking everything as seriously as he should.

Which is true.

It's Dean who finds him unconscious in the bathroom when he comes home from school one fall afternoon - Sam remembers little of it, other than he was five, home from kindergarten and John had just run out to pick Dean up from school. His back had been hurting enough that John was considering driving him to the nearest ER after he picked up Dean; he'd practically crawled into the bathroom after John left, tears of pain running down his cheeks. He doesn't remember anything after that until he'd woken up in the PICU of the local hospital, _attached to a ventilator. _According to Dean and John, he'd passed out trying to go to the bathroom, and Dean had found him unconscious on the floor, the toilet filled with fluid the color of Coke. They'd been unable to rouse Sam and had frantically raced him to the hospital where things had slid even further downhill from there, the medical people determining that Sam was a very sick little boy, his kidneys and liver were failing and then his heart started to go as well and that's when he'd been put on the ventilator.

No one knows what's happening at first but eventually the tests come back and they find out Sam is sick. Deathly sick, and has been since he was born, some kind of congenital kidney disease which has systematically destroyed his right kidney, covered it with enough cysts to effectively shut it down and partially knocked out the left one as well, all of it happening unbeknownst to any of them.

They find out it's pretty much incurable.

They find out that, despite the fact that they get Sam's remaining kidney working again, and his heart and liver right itself, he'll most likely need a kidney transplant at some point down the road.

They discover that their lives - already unconventional and unfortunate and just downright fucked up at times, what with the loss of their mother and the lack of money and the long absences of John - are about to become even more haphazard and difficult in ways they'd never imagined possible.

There are very few revelations as important to Sam Winchester than the one he has handed to him in 1991, when they're in Broken Bow, Nebraska.

He's eight, and Dean is twelve and it's Christmas.

John is gone.

John, once again, has lied.

But Dean is there, and Dean doesn't lie.

Sam is nobody's fool, even at eight.

Lying is a big deal to Sam by then, being told the truth about his health something he relies on his father and brother to do, especially with how much time he has to spend in hospitals and doctors' offices, and what could likely go wrong with him if he does or doesn't do certain things. He's always assumed both John and Dean have told him the truth about everything - and not just with the whole sickness thing - but with _everything._

Turns out, that isn't the case.

He's suspected for awhile that John's doing questionable things, things involving secrecy that could even get him - them - into trouble. He's known for awhile that Dean sleeps with a gun underneath his pillow, and then, to put the icing on the fucking proverbial cake, in a pique of frustration with every damn thing, Sam picks up John's journal and reads it cover to cover in a mad rush while Dean's out Christmas Eve day.

And has his eight year-old mind blown to bits.

His Christmas present for John - the amulet - the amulet that Uncle Bobby told him was "special," the amulet that Sam planned on giving to his father because it _is_ so special - suddenly becomes his present to Dean because it becomes clear to Sam that Dean is more worthy to receive the gift than John, after Dean tries to not only give Sam a Christmas but tells Sam the truth about what their father does when he's "away," understands that it's more important for Sam to know what's going on - painful as it might be - than to be kept in the dark - about anything.

Dean has always understood that.

So they "celebrate" Christmas and Dean gives Sam a gift more precious than anything material could ever be - the truth - and Sam gives him something special - or, at least as special as he can give - to Dean in return: the amulet meant for John. Of course, it isn't "just an amulet," and it's true significance won't become clear to them until almost two decades later, but from the moment Dean places it around his neck he makes it clear that he regards it as something eternally special to him, something he proves over and over by never taking it off unless he has to.

Christmas Day night, when they're lying side by side in the motel bed, no word from the still absent John, Sam feels himself becoming drowsy - but something is nagging at him, something he knows he'll need cleared up before he can fall asleep. "Dean."

And Dean is as sleepy as he is. "Hmm?" It sounds as if he's barely listening.

"What about me?"

"What about you?"

"Will I be all right?"

"Sam, I told you already. Dad's good at what he does. He's not going to let anything happen to us."

"No," Sam says. "I don't mean about that. I mean - about what's wrong with me. The kidney disease. Am I going to be okay?"

It's a question that's always in the back of his mind. Because even though Sam is eight, he knows that he isn't "just sick," every now and again, that having to go to the hospital every few months and take pills all the time and feeling crappy out of the blue for seemingly no reason goes beyond what "being sick" means for most people, and while he's never really come out and asked his father what's up with all of it, he suddenly thinks maybe his father wouldn't give him the full story anyway, not if he's already kept things from Sam, has left it up to Dean to be the one to fill Sam in on things.

"What kind of question is that?" Dean grumbles. "Aren't you okay right now?"

"Yeah," Sam agrees. "But I'm not always okay. You know that. And I've heard Dad and some of the doctors say stuff about - me." He's only eight, and can't always get what he's referring to into the words he wants to say.

But Sam does know about being very sick, being close to - death.

"About how I could die."

Dean rolls sleepily toward him, one arm nestling underneath Sam's back and lazing across his shoulder. "You're not going to die. Not while I'm around," he whispers. "As long as I'm here, nothing's going to happen to you."

"Are you sure?"

"Promise," Dean says, for the second time in as many days and gently ruffles Sam's hair through his fingers, just for a second. "It's what I'm here for. To take care of my pain-in-the-ass baby brother. Everything will be fine, Sammy. But right now you need to go to sleep."

And Sam does, rather easily if he remembers correctly, and he doesn't doubt again, not about Dean being there to protect him, to be there for him - not just through the hunting stuff, the supernatural secrets that he's just been let in on - rather hastily and rather brutally - but everything - everything and anything - important in Sam's life.

Dean will never hold back from him.

Dean will always be _right there _for him. No matter what.

Sam is only eight but he's still aware that this is a revelation, a truth that lulls him to sleep that night and one he carries with him everywhere he goes starting from the moment he wakes up the next morning. Of course, as Sam's life goes on, he doesn't always give this thought.

But he knows it's always there.

**/**

Sam is eleven, in the fifth grade, when his one working kidney craps out on him.

They don't know it at first, just think he's having one of his times where his lone kidney isn't working as well as it should. This has happened before - more times than Sam cares to remember - where his kidney stops working the way it should and he ends up sick and in the hospital until they can get it functioning right again.

This time is no different. He comes home from school one day tired and weak and throws up his dinner, something he's done in the past when things are off, and John - for once around and on the ball - brings him to the doctor the next day, and they're in Texas at the time, near Dallas so the doctor who sees Sam doesn't fuck around, sends Sam onto Baylor once he finds out Sam's situation, sees what's happening. It doesn't take long for the people there to figure out just how serious everything is.

Sam's other kidney has shut down and he needs a kidney transplant.

John and Dean learn very quickly that it's not going to be as easy it sounds.

It's not as if every hospital is stocked up on kidneys, just waiting to be transplanted into those who need a new one. There needs to be a kidney with a close match, which isn't that easy. They test John immediately, but despite the optimism of the staff, that the best match for a donor is usually a close relative like a parent, there's something weird and abnormal with John's blood, something that Sam's blood doesn't have or some weird shit - it's something rare but whatever it is, Sam's body won't tolerate John's kidney inside him and they're back to square one, Sam needing a kidney and nowhere to find one. There's a data base, a waiting list and Sam is put on it, but for whatever reason, a close match - even a reasonably good one - eludes them for the next couple of years.

"What about me?" Dean asks, when they find out that John can't be the donor. "Maybe I'm a good match."

"You're not old enough," John says right away, and the nurse, or social worker or whoever it is helping them out, immediately agrees and tries to push the conversation elsewhere. But Dean's having none of it. "How old do I have to be?" he presses.

"Dean." This from John, harsh and clipped in its finality. _Shut-up. Don't ask questions about things you know nothing about._

The woman - and Sam doesn't think she's a nurse, but some other official type person - hesitates but then answers Dean's question. "Eighteen. But hopefully there'll be a donor for Sam long before then."

"Can I at least find out if I'm a match?"

"We don't involve minors in any way with the donation procedure," this woman says firmly, leaving no room for any further argument. "But if Sam still needs a kidney at the time you turn eighteen, we'll be happy to test you and see if you're a match. But as I said, I think we'll find a donor for Sam before then."

It's easy to see that this woman is very good at her job - saying all the right things, dangling all the correct assurances in front of them. Even Sam can see that.

It's too bad she's completely wrong, and there is no kidney donor for him in the foreseeable future, and it becomes almost three years of pure hell for him, possibly the worst period of Sam's life.

**/**

The next step is dialysis, something that's fucked up and invasive and nothing that Sam is really ready for, regardless of the preparation he's given. As much preparation as an eleven year-old can be given.

It's also something that he needs to survive.

John explains to the medical people how his "work," takes him all over the country, how he can't really stick around in any one place to make sure Sam gets his dialysis treatment three times a week. The staff is just as aggressive with him in return, wondering what sort of job he has that makes him travel all over the place yet doesn't give him health insurance and everything has to be paid for with Medicaid and other government subsidies. Of course, John can't tell them his "work" involves hunting and killing things in the supernatural world, and the doctors are just as adamant that Sam _needs _this treatment, that it's going to not only involve long hours hooked up to some kind of dialysis machine but medications and diet requirements and follow-up visits with a nurse, if not a "patient care team," at least every couple of weeks.

In other words, it's serious business and the medical people are a little put out and not a little concerned that John doesn't seem to grasp the gravity of the situation, that Sam has no kidneys left, that the dialysis is all that is standing between him and death for right now.

Dean, of course, gets it right away.

He tries to drop hints to John, get him to see reason on the subject even though he and Sam both know that, while he gets it, he isn't going to give up hunting, is not going to rest until he finds out what happened to Mary. He might change the approach, take things in a different direction but he won't stop completely, not for either Dean or Sam.

He never says this out loud, but they both know this is his stance.

And perhaps the staff picks up on this as well, and rather than risk him taking flight with both boys before they have a chance to get things under control, they switch tactics and cautiously bring out some other options for him, something to do with doing all the dialysis treatments at home instead of bringing Sam in three times a week for them. It would involve putting some kind of catheter in Sam's stomach, John - and Dean, eventually - learning how to inject some kind of solution into this catheter and then exchanging it for another and having it run through some kind of machine - or some such shit - but the upshot is Sam could have all this done at home and they wouldn't have to be tied to any one place, necessarily.

The medical people don't really come out and say this in so many words, but that's the implication.

So John goes for it.

And by default, Dean goes for it as well.

But it's pretty much Sam and Dean that end up learning how to do everything they need to do to keep Sam's blood free of toxins, first Dean and then Sam as he gets older and becomes used to it. It's not a super hard procedure, doing the dialysis at home, and most of it takes place when Sam's asleep. There's just steps that they have to make sure they follow so that there's no infection, no fuck-ups so that Sam gets sick.

Dean's fine with doing all of it. None of it bothers him in the least.

John's a different story.

Oh, he can _do _everything, he's not an idiot so he knows what the steps are as far as pouring what solution into the catheter, how to clean everything, how to do - whatever.

But after the initial hoopla surrounding everything, the two weeks of training to learn how to do all of it, the endless visits with the nurse who comes in, the constant phone calls back and forth between everyone, John basically bugs out on the whole dialysis thing and by default, puts Dean in charge of everything.

Because Dean will do it.

Dean will never not do something for Sam, especially something this important, and John knows it.

Though luckily, Dean doesn't mind. Or, at least he doesn't seem to, doesn't ever show signs of resentment that he basically has to quit the hunting - something he'd started really getting into right before Sam's remaining kidney shut down - and be tied to the house every day to help Sam with all the dialysis crap. If he's pissed that he's the one who has to make the calls to the doctor's offices or the hospitals or _where the fuck ever_ or see that Sam keeps his follow up appointment or just even have to mess around with the fucking catheter and solution and machine every damn night, he never lets on, never even seems annoyed or pissed. He does what needs to be done and on top of that, tries to make it as easy as possible for Sam, which Sam himself can't think on too much because he knows it's not right for Dean to have to do all this but then to do it and put Sam ahead of himself without a second glance back is -

Well, too much. Just too fucking much sometimes is all.

Sam has no problems being all kinds of pissed. Sometimes pissed with his situation, sometimes pissed with Dean for different reasons, some valid and some just petty, but mostly with his father, reasons that gnaw at Sam night and day and having to do with how his father doesn't seem to give a fuck about either Sam or Dean - not really and not in the long run. Because Dean is who he is and doesn't seem bothered by anything, Sam eventually is able to push his own resentment aside, slowly but surely accept what his brother does for him as the gift that it is. But he never completely lets go of his anger toward John and it remains something that lingers within him for a very, very long time.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean has never been one to like sitting down in front of books or a computer and putting his time into research and looking things up - even for hunting. He's the opposite of John - and even Sam - in that regard, would rather take action based on instinct and experience and his own common sense. Yet at some point after Sam's diagnosis and subsequent reliance on the dialysis, Dean switches it up, begins going out to the library, often for long stretches of time, sometimes Sam in tow, other times by himself. During those times Sam is with him, he thinks Dean is looking things up about dialysis, making sure he's up on all the intricasies of it even though Sam himself has no doubt that Dean could figure everything out - and figure it out correctly - entirely on his own without books or anyone showing him anything. But after a couple months of observing Dean hunched over the library computer every chance he got in every city they landed in, and then jotting things down in some notebook he kept in his back pocket, Sam began to wonder. When he finally asks Dean about it, what he's doing, Dean gives his typical response. "Just looking different shit up."

"But about what? Hunting?" Although Sam doesn't think that's it, not when John is their resource for all things hunting.

"No, not hunting," Dean answers. And then, because he never lies to Sam, and he knows Sam isn't going to let up until Dean tells him what he's doing, he gives Sam an answer. "Stuff about kidney failure and what we can do about it."

_What we can do about it. _Sam hadn't been aware that Dean could do anything about it, but he's not surprised that Dean's going to somehow try. "Something besides the dialysis?" Sam says.

"Hopefully."

"We're on a donor list," Sam reminds him. "What else is there to do?"

"You just let me worry about that," Dean says. And Sam shrugs, doesn't give it a whole lot of thought at that particular moment, but a few days later, when Dean's jacket is slung over the back of the couch, Sam sees Dean's notebook - the one he's always writing stuff down in - resting on the cushion, apparently having fallen out of Dean's jacket pocket.

What would be the harm in looking? Sam thinks, before doing just that. At first, he can't quite figure it out, what Dean's scribbled notes are. He gets that they're about what he said they were - kidney failure and things associated with it, but there's a lot of randomness to it - addresses and phone numbers of different hospitals and universities, names with "Dr." in front of them. There's a different page titled, "Medicare," with its own set of numbers and bullet points. _Bring Sam in for evaluation, need SS, birth certificate, proof of citizenship, proof of income (Dad), veteran status (Dad), Soc. Sec. office._

Okay, Sam thinks. Something about insurance or government help or something. And then, circled at the bottom of the last page: Jan. 24, 1997.

Dean's birthday. His eighteenth birthday. Which is less than two years away and suddenly Sam gets it, gets everything. Dean and all his questions about being tested as a donor at the hospital. The nurse/worker saying he had to wait until he was eighteen.

Sam very certainly gets _everything._

**_/_**

Dean gives up hunting.

Not completely. There are times - few and far between - when whatever entity John's after is a straightforward job, one that doesn't take a long time and doesn't require him to go far from Sam and he'll bring one or both boys along.

Sam knows these are the happiest moments of Dean's young life. That - in addition to being with John - Dean embraces all of it, has some sort of inherent talent at understanding everything - tracking things and putting clues together based on things John shows him. His touch with a gun is downright masterful, and he has no qualms about plunging right into a situation and taking it on headfirst.

It becomes very clear that Dean understands the difference between good and evil, right and wrong and wants to keep others from experiencing anything that's not - right or good.

Sam despises all of it.

He tries not to but he knows a lot of his inability to get on board has much to do with how John puts all of it ahead of everything - _everything_ - in their lives so any good that comes from killing evil things is shuttled into the background. Doing good for others? That's all good and well in Sam's book - sure why not - but the fact that John can't seem to do good by his own boys a lot of the time is never far from Sam's mind.

And he never feels comfortable with the lives they lead, the lies and the stealing and the continual running from one place to another to avoid the police of CPS or - whoever. It's one more stress that John places on both boys that neither one needs nor deserves.

So, hunting evil? Killing bad things that go bump in the night? For a long time, not so much of a priority for Sam. Not even close. Of course, being too weak and sick a lot of the time has a lot to do with it as well.

He's sick a good part of the time, sick enough to be in bed, sometimes puking his guts out, sometimes feverish, both he and Dean missing school because there's just no way Sam can get there and there's no fucking way Dean will leave Sam alone. Other times, Sam is in the hospital, and he doesn't always know how he ends up there except it's usually Dean who brings him in, understands when he can't take care of Sam like he usually does because Sam's fucking kidney isn't responding to the dialysis like it should and he needs some kind of medical intervention.

So, yeah, sometimes Sam's just too caught up in trying not to feel so shitty and - in some instances - fighting to stay alive - rather than worry about where Dad is or give a crap about whatever supernatural thing is claiming his attention at the moment because, while the dialysis does its job, it's not perfect and while Dean is with him whenever Sam needs him to be, neither of those things can do for him what a healthy, functioning kidney could.

So. Hunting evil. Killing monsters. Not at the top of Sam's list.

Especially since there are times - many times - where Sam is pretty sure he isn't going to live long enough to be a part of that whole world anyway.

**/**

On January 24, 1997, Dean's eighteenth birthday, the three of them are in Canton, Ohio on a hunt for a poltergeist. John is two days gone on it and Dean himself is up early that day, and Sam thinks he means to join their father even though John had said it was something he could take care of himself. Instead, Dean gets up, packs a duffel with some clothes, takes the extra cash from the box John keeps stashed in his bag, rouses Sam, feeds him breakfast, has him get dressed and then cleans and packs up all Sam's dialysis equipment. "What are we doing, Dean?" Sam asks. "Are we meeting Dad somewhere?"

"Eventually," Dean says. "Right now, you and me are going to Maryland."

"What's there?" Sam means monster-wise; he thinks Dean's found a hunt.

"The UMMC transplant center," Dean says. He's busy running sterile water through the lines.

"What?" Sam can't believe he heard right. "Why are we going there? And why isn't Dad going?"

"We're going because there's a good chance they'll have a kidney for you," Dean says. "And Dad's hunting. I'll call him when we get there and we know more."

"I don't get it. Did someone call you? I mean, is there a match?" It doesn't seem possible; they've been waiting for three years and never really come close, though to be fair, with all the uprooting they've done in that time, it's not as if it was easy to get a hold of John if there had been a donor found. They're never in the same place more than a few weeks at a time; the people at Baylor had given John a beeper but he'd lost that on some hunt long ago, and their phone service is spotty at best most of the time. It was one of the few things Dean would consistently get pissed about, call his dad out on, about missing a call that might've come in with a match for Sam.

"They could have one and we'd never know it because we don't have the beeper or they can't reach us on the phone," Dean will say to John every few weeks, usually after Sam has been in the hospital or on the verge of needing to go into one. "I know you don't want anything to happen to him, so why can't you make sure they can get a hold of us?"

And John's answer is always along the same lines. "I'm doing what I can," he says. "You know I don't want anything bad to happen to Sam. To you, either. But this is the best I can do right now. Life can't just come to a stop while we wait. When we have decent phone service then we'll have to call them ourselves to see if they've found someone."

But it's always Dean who calls when they get the chance, the one to call up Baylor and ask if there's a donor, always the one to fudge and lie about why he's the one doing the asking instead of John.

Sam's father.

It's an action, a revelation, that both guts Sam and loosens something within him, the knowledge of the lengths that Dean will go to for him even as he understands that there are things that his own father - will not.

"Sam, it's just like I told you," Dean tells him now, bringing Sam into the present. "I don't have all the details yet, so I don't want to tell you anything that might be - wrong. There's a chance we'll be able to find out if I can give you one of my kidneys."

"What?"

Dean clears his throat, finishes up with what he's doing. "Yeah, I've been - I've got an appointment with UMMC to get tested tomorrow. To see if I'm a match."

Sam has suspected as much, just from all of Dean's research and the little things he's dropped in conversation, but he's never come right out and asked Dean about it. He's always assumed some stranger would end up being a match, some way, somehow, if only because it would be years before Dean turned eighteen.

So, no, Sam hasn't allowed himself much thought about Dean possibly donating one of his kidneys to him, when he's legally able to.

Obviously, Dean's been thinking about it. Constantly.

They drive to Maryland in a little under four hours. Dean is silent for nearly the entire trip, not even playing his beloved music. The only thing he lets slip is that they aren't going to Baylor because the people there got fed up with them not staying in touch, not letting them know where to find them and subsequently ending up dropping Sam from their waiting list, and Dean's been in touch with the Maryland people these past three or however-many years. At first Sam thinks he's mad about this, maybe at John but it's only later, years later, that Dean tells him he wasn't anything but scared - scared that they'd test him and find out Dean's kidney was no good, wouldn't be a match and Sam would be sick - or worse - the rest of his life. "I knew we could handle everything, figure it all out," Dean told him one night after they'd reunited after Dean got him from Stanford. "As long as I could give you one of my kidneys. Everything else after that was cake."

That Dean - who was rarely, if ever, scared of anything - despite what he knows about monsters and the supernatural and _what's out there_ would be felled by something like that - that he wouldn't be able to take care of his baby brother - is a revelation to Sam that means all the more to him only as he gets older.

When it should've meant as much when he was younger, and didn't.

They get to the transplant center - one of the more renowned hospitals in the world for such procedures, Sam will later find out - and they're ready for Dean, have been expecting him. Dean's ready for them as well, has all of Sam's medical records, all the forms he needs to have filled out so they can get the government to pay for it - no stone unturned, and it clicks for Sam that this is the fruits of all of Dean's "research" the past three years, all the stray notes with the phone numbers and scribbled directives on them.

It's the first time that he gets a full idea of just how committed to something Dean can be. To something unknown. To something he believes in even though he has no proof that it's going to work. It's a trait that he gets from John, that much is obvious, but the difference is, this - commitment - is geared toward Dean's family - _to Sam _and always will be.

**/**

They run some preliminary tests the very first day they're at UMMC and find out that Dean's a match.

A near perfect one.

There couldn't be a closer match if they tried.

Dean smirks. A joyful smirk that Sam doesn't think he's seen in years, and which he suddenly realizes he's missed in the worst way.

When the medical people leave the room after delivering the news and setting up the next step in all this, Dean opens his phone and punches in John's number. "Hey," Dean says, once John finally answers. ""Sammy and I are in Baltimore." A few seconds and then Dean goes on. "No, not a hunt. We're at the University of Maryland Medical Center. They found a match for Sam." He looks over at Sam then and winks, the smirk still gracing his face. "It's me."

**/**

In the end, after a month of all the evaluations and tests and psychological shit, Sam gets Dean's kidney. At first, John is somewhat reluctant, doesn't like the idea of both his sons being placed in a precarious position. But Dean won't be moved, won't entertain any thoughts of "thinking about it awhile." "I've been thinking about it for three years," is what Dean says. Keeps saying. "Every day. I'm doing it." He's of age, healthy, a perfect match and the hospital staff is totally behind him. John doesn't have a leg to stand on, not really, and he backs down.

**/**

Everything goes well, for the most part.

**/**

For Dean, it's a surgery that's like a minor blip on his radar. It's considered major surgery, but Dean is up and around within twenty four hours, off the pain meds soon after that. He's been on hunts that have laid him up longer than some abdominal surgery. Dean hates hospitals, hates sickness, hates anything that could be interpreted as "weakness" in himself so that alone is enough to get him back on his feet as soon as possible.

So he gets his ass up and around and on the road to recovery in record time. No one can ever say he isn't John Winchester's son through and through.

For Sam, things don't go quite as smoothly.

For him, it's not just a major surgery.

It's a life or death situation.

He remembers it in bits and pieces, blurred remnants of barely being awake, and people asking him to do different things, what hurts, open his eyes. John's grizzled face over his, looking less hard than usual. Feeling messed up, like finishing a thought was impossible and when he _could _do it, could think, it was unpleasant, disjointed thoughts of pain and confusion and irritation.

And he remembers Dean pretty much being by his bedside every time he was conscious.

_C'mon Sammy. Pull it together. You've got my fucking kidney now so don't screw everything up. I know how tough you are so show these assholes what you're made of._

It was like a damn lifeline, having Dean there, saying stuff like that. Because, for whatever reason, he always knows the right shit to say.

And slowly, Sam pulls his crap together, gets off the vent once his - _Dean's _- kidney starts working and pouring out urine like crazy, something Sam hasn't had happen on his own for years.

There's a setback of sorts, some kind of pneumonia that creeps in, but the medical people jump all over it as soon as it appears and Sam gets better for real after that and finally, after over three weeks in the hospital, Sam is free to go, armed with after-care instructions and meds - some of which he'll have to take for the rest of his life - but untethered to anything else. No machine, no catheter, no dialysis, no future appointment to come in and have his blood mechanically cleaned out because his body can't do it.

It's the strangest feeling in the world for him.

And not one that doesn't take some getting used to.

**/**

John gets used to it first. Of course, his adjustment period is much less - complicated - considering he never really put a lot of time and effort into the years when Sam was so sick and dependent. It's all right, though: Sam doesn't want it any different with his father, has come to the realization that the gulf between them is there for a reason, and he's okay with being on one side and leaving his father on the other.

Dean takes a little bit to come around, to understand that Sam with a kidney - _Dean's kidney_ - and for as long as Sam lives, he will never be able to think about that without everything coming to a halt within him for the briefest of moments - is a good thing, something that Dean can embrace. It takes about three months after the surgery, three months of Dean sort of hovering - though Dean would smack Sam, or anyone, for even suggesting that Dean is doing anything remotely close to hovering - and asking him daily if Sam has pissed that day, how many times and so on and so forth. "Dean," Sam finally says one day, after Dean's been particularly annoying. "I'll tell you if something's wrong. With your kidney, I mean. I swear. But for crying out loud, stop freaking asking me how many times I've pissed and how much. That's just messed up."

And for the first time in - well, years if Sam is honest with himself but for sure the first time in months, Dean smiles. A real, honest-to-fucking-God Dean smile that he doesn't just paste on for whatever situation he needs to fake a smile for. "You're absolutely right, Sam," he says. "As of today, right now, you're on your own. It's time for this shit to stop, me holding your hand about this and you having to answer to me."

And Dean's _almost _true to his word about this. He stops bugging Sam about things involving the transplant and the kidney and pissing and how Sam's feeling. The only thing he _does _do is make sure Sam takes his meds every day, the pills he's going to have to take every day for the rest of his life.

The anti-rejection drugs. The meds that will insure that Dean's kidney stays put, that Sam's body doesn't try to get rid of it, and Dean is unapologetic about making sure Sam takes them, making certain that the prescription is filled no matter where the fuck they are, in the middle of nowhere on some hunt, what red tape they have to cut through to get Sam's government assistance cards approved - none of it fucking matters as long as the drugs are there and Sam takes them like he's supposed to. "Just the way it is, Sammy," Dean says. "I'm pretty sure this is the only kidney they'll let me give you."

So Sam allows him this one small nag, this making sure that he takes his pills. It's a small price, really, and as enough time passes, Dean lets up on this as well, just the slightest.

It's fine. It all works out. They finally begin to become equals in a certain sense. Become brothers.

They join their father and begin to hunt in earnest.

Sam hates hunting.

Every minute of it.

He tries to embrace it - like Dean does - tries to gain an understanding of the world that his brother and his father participate in so fervently - so faithfully - but it's impossible for him. For so many years he wasn't well enough to take notice of what John did as his "job," unless he was forced to, much less participate in it, except on the very fringes. Waiting in the car. Waiting at some shitty hotel or crappy rented room for John or - worse - John _and_ Dean to get back from some hunt. Worst of all, waiting in some hospital for his father to come back and check him out, listening while Dean hemmed and hawed excuses about why they couldn't get a hold of John so he could get his own son out of the damn hospital. Listening to his father prattle on to him and Dean about this spirit or that monster. Sam would try to listen, try to force himself to have some interest in anything involving that life but much of the time he was tired or bored or feeling like hell or behind in school and trying his damndest to get caught up with that and all of the time he was annoyed - annoyed with John for not letting them stay in one place for very long and putting so much pressure on both Dean and himself.

Sam considers it a small victory that he's been left out of all of it, can disregard the hunting for the most part - he certainly couldn't go out into some weird place and try to capture some monster when he was as sick as he was - it was his one way of saying, "fuck you," to his father when it seemed like his father had pretty much said that to him for the first fourteen years of his life.

On the other side of the spectrum, John taught Dean everything about the supernatural and monsters and hunting and rituals and weapons and how to kill one thing and how to protect yourself from something else. Teaching Dean this stuff hadn't been hard - he was a natural study, loved it with a passion, wanted to be good at it.

And he is. Almost unnaturally so. Where as he will hardly ever pick up a school book and read it unless he has to, he will spend hours poring over books from Bobby's library or Pastor Jim's office or even John's journal, though Sam knows he's pretty much got that memorized. Dean loves the arsenal they've got, knows how to clean every gun, polish every knife, which weapon is best for killing which monster. He knows the Latin for an exorcism, which religions believe which lore, the different customs and beliefs among certain cultures concerning good and evil, gods and goddesses, light and dark.

Dean likes it. John is obsessed with it, has taken it on because he's - obsessed with finding out what happened to Mary, but Dean likes it for its own sake. "Sam, I feel like it's what I'm meant to do," he tells Sam after he he's made his first kill, when he's sixteen years old. Sam doesn't even know what it is that Dean "killed," and Dean doesn't give any details about it other than how he felt when he and John burned the thing to a crisp. "This is stuff hardly anyone knows about - or if they do, it's usually too late. You don't know how good it made me feel to be able to know I helped someone who might never even know he was in danger. How right it felt to me, Sammy."

_What, are you kidding? _Sam thinks, later on. _You counted down the days until your eighteenth birthday when you could go and _give me one of your kidneys, _so for you to feel that helping people is the greatest thing ever - yeah, I think I get it, Dean._

Of course, he doesn't say this out loud, just listens and acts interested. And he _is _interested, because it means so much to Dean.

"No reason that I can see that you shouldn't start hunting with us," John says one night, about a half year after the whole transplant stuff has settled down, mistakenly thinking Sam's "interest" in Dean means he actually wants to start up in what they refer to as "the family business." "You're healthy now. I could really use the extra set of hands."

There's nothing that Sam would like less except maybe gouging his own eyes out with the nearest sharp instrument he can find.

He looks to Dean, thinking for a brief moment that he might be the way out, that Dean will jump in and pull him to safety, remind John about the dangers of Sam putting himself in harm's way when he's been so sick or at least was sick not so long ago, how Sam only has the one kidney and he should play it safe. Things Dean would've said in the past if it would've been necessary.

But Dean, despite holding Sam's gaze with his own, remains silent. _"You're absolutely right, Sam. As of today, right now, you're on your own. It's time for this shit to stop, me holding your hand about this and you having to answer to me." _The words practically hit Sam in the face, and he knows he can't ask Dean to jump to his defense - not about his health, not anymore - and he should be able to stand up and voice his thoughts about hunting and how he doesn't want to do it, how he thinks it's fucked up five ways from Sunday.

He _wants _to say it. Wants to wash his hands of the whole supernatural-monster business, has wanted to do it ever since Christmas in Nebraska some-six years ago when he found out how crazy everything really is in their family. He's finally healthy - he's got _Dean's kidney inside him _- and just wants to enjoy things like feeling well and going to school and maybe do some kind of non-contact sport like track or swimmingand eat regular food now that he can without having to worry if it's going to fuck him over even more and just generally go around like every other fourteen-almost-fifteen year old does.

But what comes out of Sam's mouth is the exact opposite. His voice doesn't even sound like his it's so strained. Grim. "Great. Let's do it."

"Dean'll start showing you the weapons, how to start handling them," John says. Whether he's pleased or not, Sam can't tell, it's always difficult to discern whether their father is happy about anything and this time is no exception. "We'll start off easy, go for a spirit or something until you get the feel. I'll call Caleb in the morning, see what he can rustle up."

"Sam," Dean says, when John's out of range. He has a look of both disbelief and hope on his face that gives Dean a look Sam doesn't think he's ever seen before. "You - "

He stops there, and it doesn't take a genius to see he's unsure how to go on. It's not surprising to Sam, he knows Dean understands that Sam's never wanted the hunting life for himself.

There isn't one thing that Dean doesn't get about Sam, no matter how much or how little they've ever talked about it.

"What?" Sam asks. "I - what?"

"Nothing," Dean says, as if he's decided some things are better left alone. "We'll start tomorrow. I'll start by showing you how to take the guns apart, how to clean them."

Yeah, so not the first choice on Sam's to-do list. But he can do it, will do it. For Dean. He can do it for Dean because Sam hasn't been the only one who's had to sit through a lost childhood. When Sam thinks of sacrifice he thinks of Dean first and foremost and hunting monsters with him seems like the least Sam can do, at least for now.


	3. Chapter 3

"_I'm not going to live this life forever. Dean, when this is all over you're going to have to let me go my own way."_

Goddamn it, Sam will think, more than once, at various points after Dean goes to Hell, and then returns. If he could've understood the scope and breadth of these words when he and Dean were having this conversation - a conversation that Sam can't even remember when it took place, exactly, just that they were in Chicago chasing after Meg and then had met up with John - he would go and take it all back in a heartbeat.

Because the words become prophetic in many senses - sometimes he and Dean do physically leave each other for brief periods, but even that isn't the real issue.

Sam does end up going his own way in so many more ways than just the physical.

Ones that end up more damning.

**/**

For whatever reasons - and Sam will have plenty of time later on to think about some of these "reasons" and how he played a part in just about all of them, intentionally or not - his relationship with Dean goes to hell once Sam is healthy.

It's the weirdest fucking thing - everything should be goddamn peachy once Sam has a functioning kidney and there's no more worries about Sam's health, and John has both his boys running on all cylinders, and they don't have to screw around with doctor's appointments and beepers and the horrid dialysis machine all the time. Sam is right where everyone else is as far as what he can do - for the first time in what feels like forever he can eat what everyone else does, go to school and get through a quarter without having to finish the semester at home - go anywhere, really - and most important of all - though this is John's perception rather than Sam's - save people and hunt things and jump on the bandwagon of finding out what killed his mother.

Except Sam bails on that as soon as he has the chance.

**/**

When Sam thinks about this - about leaving Dean and John behind to go to college, go off on his own - for the longest time he'll believe this is where it all started, where his and Dean's relationship began to go south. All the abandonment shit. Leaving the family. Ditching his father and his brother the minute he's physically able. John certainly felt this way about Sam's departure - even before Sam left - and never hesitated to make his feelings known. The fights between them were epic once John found out what Sam was up to with the college stuff, the secretly sent applications, the hours spent wherever there was public access to a computer so Sam could check his emails and keep track of the different schools he was thinking of applying to.

It'd been Dean who'd try to calm the waters when the tensions ran high, Dean who actually tried to get John to come around, and see that it might be better if Sam left and did his own thing.

Went his own way.

"This isn't really a good idea for Sammy," Dean says to John, more than once, usually after John has told Sam yet one more time that Sam isn't going anywhere after high school. Sam has never breathed a word to either Dean nor John that he hates hunting evil shit more than anything except maybe lying in a hospital bed on a ventilator when his kidney shut down or being confined to the house while Dean or John - but mostly Dean - hooked him to all the dialysis equipment night after night so his own body wouldn't poison itself, but Dean had figured it out soon after Sam got the transplant, that Sam doesn't want this, has no desire to take on monsters and spirits and ghosts and shed blood no matter how worthy the damn cause, not when his own life has hung in the balance for so long.

Sam never says any of this.

Dean just gets it.

And where as Dean is all about the cause, is born to save people - people he doesn't know, of all things - he quietly supports Sam in his anti-stance of all of it as best he can, most likely because there were so many years where Sam's life was a breath away from ending and - at least for right now - Dean wants him to stay as safe as he can.

Starting with relaying the news to John that the hunting life might not be the best thing for Sam.

"Not a good thing for him?" John says. "He's stronger than you and me both. He's a little soft but all he needs is some decent training."

"He's not supposed to - play any contact sports or do anything that he could get hurt at," Dean says. He himself has been in hunts where he's cracked some ribs, broken a bone or two. "It might be a good idea to - not let him hunt."

"They also told us he's as healthy as you and me right now, and can live a normal life."

"What the hell?" Sam isn't able to stay quiet at this. "You call this a fucking normal life?"

"He still only has the one kidney," Dean cuts in, trying to both keep the exchange down to a dull roar and remind John that even though Sam is healthy, there's still some limitations.

"So do you. And you're hunting fine."

"But it's my kidney, Dad. It's supposed to be there. Sam - anything could go wrong with - everything. Me getting tossed around and Sam getting thrown against some wall isn't the same thing. Any injury or him getting sick could - make his body reject it."

Of course, John knows this - or maybe he doesn't, Sam will sometimes think in his more contemplative moments. Maybe his father has been so far removed from all that's been happening with his boys that he's never really paid attention to what the medical people tell him, that how - despite Sam being healthy now - he still has to be careful, has to actually take care of himself so Dean's kidney will actually stay where it is, and with a minimum of problems. Maybe John's just too worried about saving other people in his pursuit of revenge to really give a crap about what's going on with his own kid in the here-and-now.

It doesn't matter though. No matter how many times Dean might remind John that Sam's situation isn't the best for shit like monster hunting and tangling with things in the supernatural world, John never seems to be able to let go of the dream that both his boys will take up the cause of finding the thing that killed Mary and rid the world of some terrible things along the way, and maybe even save some lives in the process.

Until Sam gets a full ride to Stanford.

He couldn't imagine this ever happening given how much school he's missed between moving around so often and being sick even more - but when they're hunting some vengeful spirit in Illinois in Sam's junior year, some teachers and a guidance counselor recognize his intellect, his smarts, and take him under their wing and show him how to apply to colleges, how to fill out applications and forms for scholarships and financial aid, what he needs to do and say about himself, how to get on a computer and do things that way.

And Sam gets it - he's been homebound a good part of his life where he's had nothing better to do than read whatever books he can get his hands on, or give his full attention to his schoolwork. It's not too much of a stretch for him to learn how to sell himself in an essay or even in person when the time comes for that.

And he knows he's naturally - well, smart. He likes books, likes learning things, can lose himself for hours on a computer looking things up when that rare chance comes his way. So between some caring teachers and his own natural abilities in the academic arena and managing to visit colleges when John's away on a hunt - and not a little bit of some sort of luck - Sam gets the scholarship, the way paved clear for him to get out.

The last time Sam sees his father before going away to school, John pretty much tells him not to come back, backs his words up with the threat of physical harm that would've likely taken place except for Dean's intervention, his standing between John and Sam the only thing that stops John from hauling off and smacking Sam's words - his renouncement of ever having anything to do with the mother fucking family business ever again - right out from him with a swift backhand across Sam's mouth. Dean the peacemaker of all damn things, steps in and pulls the two of them apart and keeps everything from really escalating into something out of hand.

That "something" being John shoving Sam against a wall or slamming him into the ground - not that he'd ever done anything like that before, but now Sam's big and strong and healthy and he isn't afraid to speak his mind, so anything's possible at this point, given all the tension that's been building the previous four years.

Tension that Sam knows has been mainly his doing.

He can't help it, despite knowing all of this is essentially his fault. But goddamn it, he doesn't want this. Dean might want it. How _anyone _could want this sort of life - especially someone as smart and good as Dean - Sam hasn't been able to figure out - wouldn't figure out until much later. And as for John? He obviously _needs_ this for his own - reasons.

But Sam can't embrace it - this hunting life - no matter how hard he's tried to get into it, tried to place himself in the mindset of both his father and his brother.

It's all too fucked up.

So Dean lets him go his own way. Sam would be lying if he were to ever say Dean is happy about Sam going, Sam taking off with hardly a glance back. In fact, Sam is sure for the entire time he's away that Dean is resentful that Sam just up and goes without any kind of regret. Sam is convinced even after his four years that Dean holds some sort of grudge that Sam decided to move on once he got healthy.

Like he's snubbing his nose at Dean personally, giving Dean a great big "fuck you," once Dean had raised him and basically kept him alive and then given him his kidney and then stood by and let Sam decide what he wanted to do with his life without questioning or criticizing him for it.

Not because Dean's that way. He never has been. Dean has his faults for sure - he can get bitchy and think he's right even when he's dead wrong and get pissed off about unimportant shit when he doesn't get his way. He's bossy and crude at times and he drinks too much and can - and does - take too many reckless chances when he's hunting.

But one thing he's never been is resentful toward Sam. About anything. Annoyed with Sam. Irritated with Sam. Even pissed at Sam when the situation called for it - or even when it might not have. But this - Sam taking off, probably for good and leaving the one person who's done everything for him behind with not even as much as a thank you - not that Dean would allow Sam to thank him, Dean can't stand that kind of shit - makes Sam think that Dean has to be a least a little - something - about all of it, about Sam leaving. He knows Dean too well, knows how Dean feels about him, about all they've been through together.

It's only later that Sam will come to understand that Dean holds no resentment toward Sam whatsoever.

Resentment? None.

Never has.

It will take Sam a long time to get that Dean doesn't resent Sam for leaving, for getting away, getting out.

He simply misses Sam. Is lost without his younger brother around - for many, many reasons, none of which are necessarily important or fixable or whatever - because the long and short of it, the beginning and the end, is that Dean misses Sam when he's not there.

Because Sam is Dean's family, and family is everything to Dean.

That's it.

**/**

Sam _does_ go his own way, at least for awhile and definitely with some high drama involved, at least initially.

But even that settles down. True to his word, John cuts his ties from Sam once Sam's in California. Dean does his best to keep in touch but he's making his own life in the hunting world - with and without John - and his contacts with Sam are sporadic at best.

Sam's years away from Dean are - strange.

Not always in a bad way, but if Sam is honest with himself - and once in a great while he is - not necessarily in a good way, either.

At least, not in as good a way as he'd first thought it would be.

He never feels like he completely fits into the college life, no matter what he does to try. Some of it has to do with how he has to deliberately look away from things he knows are going on supernaturally around him - things going on that he hears about from either the other students or his professors - and this is much harder for Sam to do than he would've ever thought possible. To turn a blind eye when he hears some girl he doesn't know whispering to someone else behind him behind in a poli-sci lecture that she thinks she saw some sort of - _apparition_ or something in the elevator when she got home the night before. The other girl had giggled, pointed out that the first girl was probably drunk or whatever, and the first girl insisted, _No, I was at the library trying to write my lit paper, I wish I had been drunk but I wasn't,_ and then Sam had to stop listening, had to physically move to another seat in the lecture hall because if he heard another word he - well, he wasn't sure what he'd do, given that he's on one of the most prestigious college campuses in the world and will sound completely batshit if he starts yapping about ghosts and supernatural crap, but also given - and maybe more importantly - that he's alone, without Dean, and while Sam knows he can hunt by himself, it's not often where they've hunted without the other, made sure they have the other's back. So, he moved his seat and after that, deliberately made sure never to linger on things that he saw or heard that were - hinky - things Sam knows are worthy of checking into as possible creatures to be hunted.

He can't afford it, not now, not in this new life.

But it never feels completely right either, and he knows he never fits in all the way with his fellow students. The professors.

Even with Jessica.

Sam thinks it's going to be all right with her - at least initially. Of everyone he's met at Stanford, everything he's done during his time there, being with her, falling in love with her has been the most "normal" thing he's done, is the one thing that has made him feel closer to what other people around him experience, people who don't know about the things that go bump in the night and the people who hunt them down and rid the world of them.

Sam begins to think it all might work out after all, he might actually get away with it, a "normal" life and end up living away from his father and all the bullshit associated with growing up the way he and Dean did.

Of course, Sam isn't stupid and he gets that he isn't being completely honest with Jess, about his life before Stanford. He tells her some things - that his mom died when he was a baby, that he was sick a good part of his childhood, that his older brother saved him by giving him a kidney. That he doesn't get along with his dad, which partially explains why he doesn't see anyone from his family, or even talk to them all that often.

She accepts this.

He conveniently leaves out the part about how he used to tag along with John and Dean while they hunted ghosts and killed vampires and got rid of other things that most people only think exists in horror movies. What else can Sam do? If he tells about anything - other than Dean saving his life - that's ever happened to him, at the very least she'll dump his ass and at worst she'll run screaming from the room and demand he be put away somewhere. Maybe someday Sam can tell her about - some of his past. Some bits and pieces, a few select slices that he's carefully pieced together so that they don't sound so - insane.

There's no way he's risking everything he's got coming. Law school. A beautiful girl who is likely to be his wife at some point.

A normal life.

**/**

And then Dean shows up.

**/**

And fuck if his joy at seeing Sam again isn't downright ridiculous.

Sam can _feel _it even as he and Dean are wrestling around the dark apartment the night Dean breaks in, can feel it coursing through Dean as Dean slams him to the ground and _mocks_ Sam for being out of shape. Or some shit. But it's all bluster and empty words - Sam knows Dean is ecstatic to be with him again, just as Sam is over-the-moon to have Dean trying to beat the crap - or at least _pretend _- he's beating the crap out of Sam.

First off, Dean would never think of hurting Sam - not after all the crap Sam's lived through when he was younger.

Sam _thinks_ he's pissed that Dean's come to pull him away from his "comfortable" life at Stanford, but in reality, he's somewhat relieved.

Because nothing makes Sam feel as safe as being around Dean.

Not that he felt - unsafe - when he was away from Dean. Sam could never say that.

It's just that - being _with _Dean again reminds Sam of how - off - Sam has felt when he isn't with him.

It's probably not the healthiest way to be, feeling this way about his _brother_, so dependent and overjoyed that he's around once again.

But Sam gives in. Can't help it.

Loves Dean just that much despite whatever shit might be between them.

Loves even more the idea of Dean being so damn happy to be with Sam again.

**/**

But there _is_ shit between them.

Starting with their very own Daddy dearest.

Dean loves the man. Unconditionally, despite his weaknesses, his problems.

His sucky job at parenting.

And it _was_ sucky, for the most part, at least in Sam's opinion.

He bases this opinion on the simple fact that Dean was the one who raised him, not John.

Did all the shit work associated with taking care of Sam and his fucked up kidney and their fucked up lives.

Not a day passes where Sam doesn't thank God that he gave the amulet to Dean and not John.

So, yeah, being with Dean again is - joyous in many ways. It can't be anything but that for Sam.

But in other ways it's stressful as hell, because Dean does love John, will always love John and now needs Sam to help find him and Sam - doesn't really know how he feels.

But for the moment, it doesn't matter. They reunite. They take care of Constance Welsh, exchange a few harsh words about their father and their lives - all the while realizing the words are harsh but the feelings between them run so much deeper than any words that might spill between them in some heated, frustrated exchange - and make plans to part ways when this particular "hunt" is over.

John remains missing.

That's not an issue, at least not for Sam.

It probably is for Dean, but Sam can't take that on, at least not now.

And then, Jessica is killed.

And everything changes. Suddenly, Sam can take things on that he hadn't thought he wanted to take on before - things like finding John, finding out more about what happened to his mom, finding out what happened to Jessica.

Grief does strange things to people.

But regardless - despite Sam's earlier goals and proclamations and decisions to never be a part of this kind of thing again -

He and Dean begin their hunting life in earnest.

And whether he ever admits it or not, it is a life that feels more right to Sam than he ever would've thought possible.

**/**

It's not like they don't have their "things", because they most certainly do.

They butt heads over everything.

How to handle finding their father. How Sam should grieve for Jessica. About the way Dean won't grieve for John when that time comes. Everything else inbetween, from what motel to stay at, to which case they should take to what restaurant to eat at. But they also survive a bunch of crazy shit as they blaze around the country and take care of a bunch of scary, supernatural stuff, saving some people in the process. And by doing this, the two of them become even closer. Sam is physically healthy and Dean is doing the best hunting of his life. For real, Sam doesn't think he and Dean - despite the horror of what they do and the toll it takes on them - Dean especially - have ever been closer. No, Sam never wanted this, never saw it for himself but now that he has it, he's at least able to see it for what it is - something he can give to Dean, this time with him helping him do what needs to be done, just as Dean once did for him.

And then everything changes for them again.

If nothing else, they survive shit.

Mentally and physically.

Jess' death.

John's death.

So many different things, all the fucking time. Monsters and secrets and possessions by spirits and demons and all sorts of shit that should probably kill them both, but doesn't.

It anything, getting through all of it brings them closer together.

And then, the unthinkable takes place.

**/**

Sam doesn't remember the night he died, that night at Cold Oak.

He remembers the relief he felt at seeing Dean, and then a little about the physical part of being stabbed - kind of a strange, roaring flash of pain throughout his body - and then nothing after that. His spinal cord had been cut so everything would've been very quick, he would've been dead within seconds, and the next thing he remembers is waking up in some room, stiff and sore and not really sure what the fuck is going on.

Dean never really speaks of any of that, never mentions the details other than Jake Talley stabbed him and then, of course, the lies of how Bobby had patched him up. But even after the truth comes out and Sam finds out about Dean's deal, he still doesn't know much about his own death, other than the few things Bobby has let drop, how Dean wouldn't bury Sam's body, how Dean wouldn't even leave the room Sam was lying in, how Dean had eventually kicked Bobby out and spent hours alone with Sam, and a bottle of whiskey. That's all Bobby tells him and it's all Sam needs to hear because he knows Dean, knows that Dean would've been beside himself with grief and guilt and unable to do anything except drink and sit alone, unable to bury his dead brother's body.

When Sam thinks about it, it _does_ make sense, this grief of Dean's, given how he's always promised Sam he'd keep him safe, do whatever it takes to make sure nothing ever happens to him. It's been that way with Sam's health issues and crossed over into the hunting realm.

So, no - not a stretch for Sam to picture Dean giving his soul in exchange for Sam's life.

He's essentially been doing that all along anyway, starting with giving Sam his kidney. Maybe it's not the exact same thing - it's not, not really - but the symbolism is certainly there.

There isn't anything - anything - Dean won't do for Sam, is what it all comes down to. It's like Sam already knows this, of course he does, but it's here where the whole idea of it begins to take on a new meaning for him, and as fucked up as it may seem, it's this "new meaning," this realization of Dean constantly sacrificing for Sam without thinking about himself that begins to push Sam away, makes it easier for him to head down the path he ends up heading on.


	4. Chapter 4

After that, it becomes a different set of rules. It becomes Sam suddenly having to find a way for Dean to get out of his deal, a way to keep Dean alive. For twenty four years it's been the other way around, Dean giving everything up for Sam, and now it's time for Sam to step up and return the favor.

Sam fails miserably.

Not that Dean ever says this - Dean is against Sam trying to do anything to keep him out of Hell - but Sam feels like a miserable failure at it anyway, despite Dean telling him there's nothing that's going to stop everything and that there's no way Sam can try. Dean's loud and volatile disapproval over working with Ruby doesn't stop Sam from trying but in the end, none of it matters. The one thing he should be able to do for Dean - what Dean's done for him all his life - fucking make sure nothing happens to him - and he can't pull it off. Dean ends up dying painfully and bloody, _alone while the hellhound shreds him from the fucking inside out _before Sam can even get to him, can even just hold him while he bleeds out right there.

No, Sam can't remember his own death, but he knows he sure as fuck will never forget the night Dean was dragged to Hell.

It's this - when everything changes.

Sam can't get past it. Not watching the hellhound rip Dean's insides out, not planting Dean under the ground, not having to soldier on by himself afterward, not picturing what might've been happening to Dean in Hell.

But especially, not being able to come to grips with the fact that all of it was due to Sam. That Dean had died and gone to Hell because of his deal to keep Sam alive.

That was it, really.

Once Dean is in Hell, getting involved with Ruby again, getting addicted to the demon blood, using his "powers" for the "greater good" is a no-brainer.

Sam doesn't give a shit.

About anything.

Oh, he claims he does, tells himself that he's using the means to justify the end - he's still fucking _saving people and hunting things, _and he's actually found a way to do it where the demon-possessed victims don't die when he exorcises the demon. _I'm doing things for the greater good. I'm not hurting anyone who doesn't deserve it._ So, not only is he doing good deeds, he's found a better method to do it.

Drinking demon blood. Using his powers, that power that was already dormant within him all along, _power that was given specifically for him to use, anyway._

What's the harm? Sam asks himself, more than once. What does it matter?

_Dean would be sickened at what you're doing. All of it. It would kill him if he knew._

_Yeah. Too fucking bad he's burning in Hell because he sold his soul for you and you couldn't find a way to get him out of it._

In the end, it doesn't matter to Sam. Once he tries to bargain with the demons and is rebuffed, realizes he's not going to be able to free Dean from Hell, nothing matters to Sam. Not how he saves people, not even what his motives behind it are - and if he's honest with himself, his motives are far less altruistic at this point than they've ever been - not who he's fucking, not what he's addicted to, not the reasons behind everything, not the demon blood-special-children-psychic powers-grooming-Sam-Winchester-for-his-destiny crap.

With Dean gone, literally burning in Hell, none of that matters to Sam, at least not in relation to himself. Sure, Ruby babbles on about getting strong by drinking the blood and honing his special skills, using it to save people, save the world, use his power. And sure, Sam thinks. Why the hell not? What difference does it make in the long run how everything finishes up once Dean is gone? Dean always did everything right, never had a gray area when it came to right and wrong, and yet he was the one burning in Hell.

So, yeah, Sam knows it's a fucked up way to think, when he's got a few moments of clear-headedness during the four months Dean's in Hell, usually right after he's lying next to Ruby and they've done the demon-blood thing, fucked or both and the guilt that manages to somehow find its way in allows him a moment to feel how fucked up everything is getting, how fucked up he's letting it get, how he can't keep his shit together now that Dean's gone.

Of course, those moments of self-realization are few and very far between.

He quits taking all his medications, the anti-rejection drugs that keep Dean's kidney in place, keep it functioning. He doesn't necessarily do it consciously - or at least Sam tells himself that - but some days he remembers to pop the pills when he wakes up in the morning - something he rarely forgot to do when Dean was around, even when things were crazy and they were hurt or in jail or - hell, even when Sam hadn't remembered what happened to him like that crazy week before Duluth, and he'd somehow known to take the meds every day, knew he had to do at least that. And that time in Florida, when Dean had been killed by the Trickster - Sam had gone the other way. Or, at least his grief had. Shit, he didn't even know if he could call it grief, not really - he'd gone back out hunting like a fucking crazy person, focused only on - what? Sam still doesn't know, but what he does know is that he still took care of himself, never once thought of giving up, still made sure he took his damn pills and ate right and did what he was supposed to do. He even kept up with killing evil shit, which was really kind of fucked up.

Of course - both those times had been different. Both those times, Sam hadn't hurt Dean intentionally, and couldn't really be held responsible for the shit he had pulled. Sam had felt a small measure of guilt at how things had almost turned out, but Sam also knew that everything that had happened to Dean had been out of Sam's control.

Dean going to Hell?

That has _everything_ to do with Sam.

And not being able to get Dean out of there?

Same fucking thing.

Sam knows he gives up after he's rebuffed by the Crossroads Demon, gets that he really doesn't give a fuck whether he lives or dies or how he spends his time if he does have to live.

Because Sam will never - outright do anything to himself. Not intentionally. Maybe it's cowardice on his part or some sort of idea that it would be wrong to take his own life lurking in the back of his mind, but whatever it is, he knows he would never stick a gun in his mouth or take a high dive off some building.

Turns out, as things play out, he won't have to, and things will try to take care of themselves once Dean is dead and gone.

**/**

It's only four months that Dean is away, but it's enough time for the damage to be done.

For both of them.

The damage done to Dean is epic and untouchable and something Sam will never be able to know the full extent of - at least not for awhile - but even just the few things that Dean allows to trickle out about his time in Hell gives Sam a glimpse into the horrors Dean has witnessed and participated in, hints at the devastation that blankets Dean's mind and spirit.

The damage to Sam is all physical.

And all his own doing.

For Dean, the opposite is true, the damage has all taken place inside, where it can't be seen at first and where it's easier for Dean to keep hidden.

When Sam starts in with Ruby, hooks up with her and begins down the drinking-demon blood path, he's already in a bad way. Not taking care of himself, not always taking his anti-rejection meds, not giving a shit in general. No, Sam Winchester might not outright ever kill himself, but he certainly isn't opposed to purposely doing somewhat reckless things with his health and his body and his mental state.

The first time he drinks the demon blood it becomes apparent it's not good for him.

Actually, it's not Sam himself that feels the effects, as much as it's his kidney - _Dean's kidney_ - that has issues with it.

It doesn't happen overnight. He and Ruby fuck and drink demon blood on a somewhat disorganized schedule and Sam may or may not remember to swallow down his meds depending on if he thinks about it or not, but the upshot of his new lifestyle is, he's a couple weeks into all of it when he gets sick, and - in the haze of the demon blood coursing through him and giving him newfound power he'd never experienced himself - his body unknowingly begins to try and rid the demon blood he's shoving into it, tries to protect itself by rejecting it, getting rid of the shit Sam's shoveling into himself.

Naturally, his kidney - Dean's kidney if Sam is honest with himself, and at this point Sam isn't necessarily all that concerned with being totally honest with himself, at least not about demon blood and Dean's kidney and how Sam is fucking himself over - is the first thing to feel the effects of what Sam is doing, is the first thing to start failing on him.

The first time this happens, Sam doesn't have a clue. He wakes up in some hospital in - Mississippi? Arkansas? - some southern state because Ruby - bitch and demon that she is - got that something was really wrong with him when he started puking on the bathroom floor of the motel they were staying in and then lost consciousness and couldn't be woken up, and needed some kind of real medical help and somehow got him to some ER before abandoning his ass on the doorstep, like some gangster dumping a bullet-wounded buddy bleeding out at the entrance doors.

But whatever. Sam had woken to the sights and sounds of all sorts of machinery trying to get him and his - _Dean's_ - kidney - functioning again and there had been a shitload of questions by the medical staff. Sam's not entirely sure how the demon blood shows up in their blood work and their tests - if it even shows up at all - but something must be amiss because no one can seem to understand why Sam's bloodwork is so - abnormal from what it should be, even with his - _Dean's -_ kidney falling apart - and instantly Sam knows what the fuck is up, it's the demon blood messing with everything, screwing up his kidney function and all their blood tests.

For the first time since Dean's gone to Hell, Sam begins to have second thoughts about the whole demon blood thing.

Not because it could kill him. Fuck, that doesn't matter, Sam's already made his peace with possibly dying in the line of hunter duty. It wouldn't necessarily be pleasant but then again, it probably wouldn't be anything nearly as awful as what Dean's experiencing every minute of every single fucking day.

But this is - Dean's kidney he's fucking around with. Until this moment, Sam had never even thought of it, thought about what he's doing.

Taking the one thing of Dean's he has - and okay, it wasn't like Dean's amulet, which Sam wears morning and night, but it is something Dean's given him _to save Sam's life_, no less and here Sam is, doing shit that could very well make that entire gesture meaningless.

_You've got to quit this shit, fucking Ruby, the demon blood shit, all of it. Dean didn't do this for you just so you'd go out and - destroy yourself like this. Make a joke out of all the things he did that had some meaning. How do you think he'd feel if he saw you right now, could see what you're doing to put yourself into this state?_

It's an eye-opener, no question, and Sam knows what the answer is. Truthfully, it's a pretty straightforward solution, one that leaves no gray area, one that will take care of the problem pretty fucking quick.

Stop sucking down the demon blood.

It's just too bad, as Sam will quickly come to discover, that he's not just stumbling along the path of addiction, but that he's already running down that particular road that has no forks in it and getting off isn't going to be easy. Or maybe even possible.

Whether he wants to or not.

**/**

When Dean gets back from Hell, he's all kinds of pissed.

Not initially - though for sure there is weirdness and tension between them because Dean is Dean and whatever he lacks in formal education he more than makes up for in just _- sensing - _when something is wrong, especially with Sam - and while their reunion is cautiously joyful, Dean is all kinds of - suspicious.

As well he should be.

Because Sam is past being smack in the middle of drinking the demon blood and fucking the very demon herself and Dean can tell something is going on with him long before the facts come out, and Sam knows that Dean knows something's up, just not exactly what it is or how far gone things are.

"How're you feeling?" Dean asks him, the first chance he and Sam are alone. "You taking care of yourself?"

Translated: "Are you taking your meds? Are you doing what you're supposed to be doing?"

Because this is what Dean always says to him when - well, whenever. He patches Sam up when they're hunting and takes care of Sam when he knows Sam is sick and when things are really bad he'll ask Sam if he wants to go to the hospital, but he doesn't tell Sam what he should do or how he should live his life, at least not that way.

But he always asks Sam if he's taking the meds to keep his kidney healthy. It's the one thing Dean does do, the one nag he has.

And while Sam would've never even dreamed of lying to Dean before - before sleeping with Ruby and slurping down demon blood like one of the vampires they've hunted - he lies now. No, Sam tells himself, to try and make himself feel better. He _hedges. _Holds back a little. "Yeah, of course," he says.

It's somewhat true; when he feels like it, when he can make himself give a fuck - for whatever reason - Sam will go and get the prescriptions refilled, will dick around with his Medicaid card and be a good boy and get the meds and maybe even take them for awhile.

Because, again: it really didn't matter to him. Demon blood or not. Kidney failure or not. Whatever. Nothing really mattered once Dean was gone. At least not at first.

And now? Now it's too far gone and Sam's in too deep.

Now he _needs_ the demon blood.

Dean calls him on it immediately. "Bullshit. You look like crap."

Sam slips into defensive mode without even one second thought. "Jesus Christ, Dean, maybe it's because I've been under a little bit of stress myself lately."

He doesn't bother mentioning that he's just gotten out of the hospital because his kidney - _Dean's kidney _- failed on him for the second time in three months.

And _that's_ because Sam's drinking so much demon blood at this point that his - _Dean's_ - kidney can't filter it properly, isn't meant to purify demon blood like it would regular human blood.

Sam keeps quiet about that part of it.

And it works, it fucking works. Sam's words. He fucking manipulates Dean _perfectly. _"Hunting?" Dean asks. "What is it?"

"Just - everything," Sam answers vaguely, like any fucking addict would, any fucking answer to cover his ass. "It's only been four months since you've left. Give me a break, would you?"

And Dean does, for all of about five minutes, but between Dean's suspicions and observations and Castiel's - some motherfucking "angel" that pulled Dean out of Hell - meddling, Dean confronts Sam pretty early on, first about Sam's waning health and then Ruby and then the demon blood.

Something that they both already know about, though they've kept this to themselves.

Sam in particular.

Of course, Dean doesn't know all the repercussions about any of this right away, just thinks Sam's being stupid with his health because he was grieving over Dean. Which is kind of true, so Sam is more than happy to let Dean think that.

Of course, when Dean finds out the truth - that Sam's clued in about the demon blood and the "supposed plan" for him and worst of all - Sam's headlong slide into everything and subsequent addiction - all bets are off.

When it becomes clear that Sam has made his choices and he can't be trusted, _this_ is when things change between them.

Though Sam won't understand this until well after everything is over and done.

**/**

If there's one thing Sam regrets more than anything - wishes he could go back and change about that time after Dean gets back from Hell - is his memory of the whole damn time.

Of course, when it's later pointed out to him - by Bobby, by Castiel, by Dean himself - that Sam's been acting like a first-class prick during this time, Sam would like to take all of that back as well.

Truth is, he can't really remember things very well. A lot of it's a blur, the things he and Dean did then. The hunts blur into one for Sam, and one means the same as another. Dean's pain from Hell, where he's been and what he's done - Sam knows it's there, has even prodded Dean on it a little bit, but the fragments of what Dean admits to him are lost to Sam almost the moment he hears them. He knows Dean is drowning, even feels bad about it but it's a fleeting thing, always chased away by his own issues, the very real physical need for the demon blood that claws at him just about every minute of every day. Even Ruby is secondary, everything they do including the fucking just a means to an end for him.

It's wrong. All of it.

Sam knows it, and doesn't care.

The things - people - he cares about - Jessica, his father in a weirdly fucked up yet loving way -

_And, of course, Dean, above all _-

Have all been taken from him.

So, yeah, Sam doesn't necessarily give a fuck - necessarily - about what is right and what is wrong at this point.

_Dean would care. _Does _care._

Of course, in his few moments when his mind and his body isn't fogged by the demon blood, this only makes Sam feel worse.

**/**

Crazily, miraculously - they continue to hunt together, even when Dean knows the truth, even after Castiel appears on the scene and tries to force Dean's hand at various turns, when Bobby sticks his nose in and throws his two cents around about what Sam should and shouldn't be doing - even when the fucking angels get involved and the entire big picture is presented - fucking Michael's vessel and Lucifer's vessel and the looming Apocalypse and what would God want and what does Ruby think and all the other shit that comes with all of it.

They hunt but they aren't together - not like they once were.

It's pretty hard to be, when Dean still loves him but won't - can't

- trust him, has to put up with the lies and the sneaking around. Dean's got his own things, the post-traumatic stress from being in Hell which they never really get a good handle on, and on top of all that is Sam's shit about wanting to be the one to kill Lilith.

They're given a hugely unexpected gift after Sam kills Lilith and breaks the final seal - Sam miraculously and painlessly freed from the physical addiction of the demon blood. It's all well and good because at least he doesn't have to worry about having to fuck around and go back to Bobby's panic room or the damn hospital.

But it's not a cure-all, either.

Because despite the physical component being removed, Sam can feel that he's changed now, that what is inside him has been unleashed and he'll always be fighting to keep it pushed down, that want and desire and powerful feeling he had while downing all of it, much like an actual drug addict. Dean, for his part, tells Sam he wants to treat Sam like a grown-up, not just the baby brother he always seems to need to take care of, but his distrust of everything Sam does is constant, no matter what Sam says to reassure him that he wants to do this with Dean, wants to get back on track with him - have it be like it was before Dean went to Hell, before the demon blood and Ruby. "Sometimes I wish I I was sick again," Sam tells Dean when things are at their worst, when they've parted ways for awhile thinking it'll help, gotten back together thinking they were okay and then been contemplating splitting up again after finding out things aren't okay between them. "We never had this shit when I was a kid, before I got the transplant, never fought about anything."

"You were a kid. You weren't addicted to demon blood and you weren't fighting me at every turn, Sam."

"I can't go back and undo everything. I wish I could. That's what I'm saying. If I was back to those days when I was sick, none of this would've ever happened. Maybe we wouldn't be fighting over every little thing. I'm pretty sure the two of us wouldn't be jumping through hoops trying not to say yes to goddamn Michael and Lucifer."

"And what makes you so sure of that?"

"Because," Sam had said. "I'm pretty sure I'd be dead by now. I mean, considering how long we'd gone without a match. I'm pretty sure if you hadn't stepped in, I wouldn't have lived long enough to graduate high school. And maybe that would've been for the best."

"And how the fuck would that have been for the best?"

"Because instead of doing what was best for you - giving me the kidney - maybe you should've done what was best for me, and let nature take its course."

"Really, Sam? That's what you think? That I did it for myself? That I was driven by my own selfish intentions to see you healthy and not dying? And like that's a bad thing?" Dean had shaken his head. "Man, that demon blood fucked you up more than I thought, if that's where you're at right now."

Even as he said the words, Sam had known they were coming out wrong, that it was sounding like he was _pissed_ at Dean for saving his life, rather than frustrated with the whole entire situation they were in now. "That wasn't how I meant it," Sam had started, trying to explain.

And Dean had held up his hand, wouldn't let Sam say anything else. "I get it Sam, I do. You don't need to say anymore about it. You probably shouldn't - I know I've heard enough about what you think. And it doesn't matter because it didn't play out that way so we're stuck like this, like it or not."

Yeah, Sam thinks. Not one of their better conversations during that time, that whole messed up period where Sam was "clean," but the issues between the two of them were still large and unresolved.

And then, of course, the icing on the cake comes after they return from "Heaven," the whole business with the amulet, finding out it's worthless - at least according to Castiel as far as getting a hold of God.

It's seeing Dean seemingly lose all faith at the moment that makes something within Sam shift, open up in understanding at what's been going on between them, both here and in their respectable "Heavens.

It's not so much that Dean's lost any faith in God or that they can stop the Apocalypse - his faith in that has been shaky at best for the most part. It's not even that he's lost his faith in Sam to do the right thing - that's been gone for awhile and rightfully so.

It's the loss of Dean's faith in the strength of their bond, has been shaken enough that Dean feels he can just _get rid of the one thing he prized the most, a symbol of their commitment to being there for the other when no one else will _- without a second look back, that opens Sam's eyes. Because, really, so the fuck what if the damn thing can't find God or whatever? That's never what it meant to Dean anyway.

So to say that Dean dropping it in the trash without a second look back is unexpected is an understatement.

He's done, Sam thinks. Not because of what Joshua said, not because of Castiel. It's because of everything I've said to him, and that so-called happiest-memories shit he just saw me have, the things I haven't done that I should be doing.

It isn't until the amulet clanks to the bottom of the trash can in the bottom of some nameless motel that Sam finally gets it.

What he needs to start doing.

Sam scoops the amulet out of the trash without a second thought, not even completely sure why he's doing it. Not really. It has no worth anymore, not to Castiel and obviously not to Dean.

_He wants what this meant to him. He wants you to be okay. He wants things to be okay between the two of you, even if the Apocalypse can't be stopped, even if things aren't the way they once were. And he's given up on that happening_.

Sam knows he can't just take the thing and hand it to Dean out in the parking lot and everything will be, "all good," but he can't just leave it in the fucking garbage, either.

He fishes it out, pockets it. What possible good it can do him - if anything - remains to be seen. When he might find the chance to return it to Dean, and under what circumstances and whether Dean will even accept it or not is an even bigger question mark.

But for the first time in a long, long time Sam does feel like he is doing something right, something that somewhere along the way is going to make a difference.


	5. Chapter 5

The Apocalypse ends up nearly killing both of them.

They face the Horsemen. Encounter life-threatening difficulties and somehow manage to not only survive them, Pestilence and Famine and War, the loss of Jo and Ellen, the laying of everything on the line when they visit Heaven, the truths they face in the final days before they face Zachariah and Lucifer and even Castiel - all the shit they have to go through to obtain the rings, decide whether or not they should fucking say "yes," or not. None of it is easy and more than once neither of them believe they'll even get to Detroit, to give consent, say yes or no.

Nonetheless, in the end, everything plays out toward the Michael-Lucifer showdown just as predicted, once it becomes clear that there will be a showdown in Detroit between Lucifer and Michael, one way of another.

Dean never does give Michael his consent, though he comes close.

Sam has a strange peace about all of it - Dean saying no. It's not like he expected Dean would ever say yes.

Sam does say yes. It would almost be funny if it weren't so horribly pathetic. Dean worried that he'd say yes and then never doing so, and Sam completely certain he would never say yes - and then doing exactly that.

Everything goes down just as foreseen - Sam downs the gallons of demon blood in preparation to take Lucifer in. He doesn't allow Dean to watch him drink it - there are at least four gallons and he knows just the thought of drinking it is stressful enough for Dean. But when Sam's done, has chugged all of it down and they're getting ready to leave, Dean comes up to him, says just loud enough so only Sam can hear, "I don't know how much of that you drank but it's - it's probably a lot more than what you drank - before, when you ended up in ICU. You know, those times with Ruby."

Dean. Always thinking about that part of it, how Sam's body is going to handle - or not handle - the trauma inflicted on him and his kidney, regardless of what it is. Including ingestion of a shitload of demon blood. "Way more," Sam agrees. He knows what Dean's thinking. It would be impossible not to, and he's not sure he's ever felt the depth of Dean's - love - for him more than he does at this moment. "It's going to do a number on me, big time."

Dean's not thinking about Lucifer. Or Michael Or even the Apocalypse.

He's's worried about Sam, and how he feels, and what this is doing to him physically.

Sam stops, forcing Dean to stop with him, forcing him to actually look Sam in the face.

Neither says a word.

_I don't want you to die. Not at all, but especially not like this._

_I know._

_I don't want you to suffer, Sammy. I don't want this to be painful for you._

_I know you don't. It'll be okay, Dean. I'll be okay. _

"It'll be over before that happens," Sam says. He doesn't want to say anymore than that, but he wants Dean to understand that he gets it.

Neither of them expect Sam to be alive long enough to get to that horrible point. Once Lucifer's done with him, even if by some miracle Sam were still with them and not in Hell, his body, his kidney - _Dean's kidney _- will never be able to recover from it.

**/**

As always, when Sam is in the throes of the demon blood - and he isn't just playing here, this is, literally, gallons of it pumping through him - he remembers very little of what takes place around him. He knows the exact moment when Lucifer takes him over, can feel that right away even without seeing the look of horror and sadness on Dean's face as it happens .

But Lucifer is in him then and Sam is cold to it, to Dean, to everything happening, everything about to happen.

They're still in Detroit. Sam knows that much.

Dean is there. Bobby and Castiel.

Other than that, Sam remembers little.

Other than he is guided - and that's the word Sam will always use whenever he thinks about that time when he and Lucifer were - _one_- into beating the ever-loving crap out of Dean, the goal being that he -

_Lucifer_ -

Can somehow change Dean's mind, that the physical beat down from Lucifer -

_Sam _

Will be enough to push Dean into it, to say yes to something he really doesn't believe in.

It ends up looking like Lucifer is going to have his way. He nearly beats Michael's intended - Dean, his motherfucking brother who's done everything for Sam - to death without Sam even aware of what he's doing, how close he comes to taking Dean's life with his own hands - and Dean is no fucking slouch, between the both of them Dean is the better fighter, knows how to use his hands and his body in a fight much better than Sam, he always has - just by the sheer, physical force of goddamn Lucifer, Sam exerts so much more strength on Dean through the goddamn demon blood alone.

It is the strangest thing. It's - Lucifer - doing everything -

And Sam fucking knows this, that it's not him beating the shit out of Dean, not really, but the Satan himself. Yet Sam is also aware of the way things play out, that his body- fucking vessel, as it were - is the one delivering each singular blow to Dean, trying to not just kick the shit out of him but actually snuff him out, kill the very person who gave him life fourteen years ago when Sam was dying.

Yet Sam can't help himself.

Because it's not him.

It is, but it isn't.

But Lucifer is stronger, and he's the one calling the shots at the moment so Sam is helpless, even as he's a willing participant.

Whatever happens from then on, Sam will never completely be able to reconstruct the events. Not really. He remembers trying to get Dean to say "yes." To give in. To take on Michael so they can have it out. Finish this. Stop the Apocalypse, start the end of the world, it makes no fucking difference.

Not really.

Because what it all comes down to - no matter what the sugar-coated version is - regardless of what the angels or the Horsemen or Castiel - or whoever the fuck says - it's about what goes on between Sam and Dean.

But it's not a fair fight. This much Sam is aware of even while it's going on.

Not when it's goddamn Satan against _the righteous man who shed blood in Hell._

At some point, when Sam - Lucifer - and where one starts and one ends at this point, Sam honestly doesn't know - is beating the shit out of Dean - not Dean as Michael, not Dean as anyone but _Dean_, someone who has taken beating after beating so those weaker, those who can't defend themselves might live - he gets that the end is near, that Dean's life -literally - is in his hands and he's mere moments away from ending it.

Sam isn't sure how the next part plays out - he'll allow himself to think back on it later, in bits and pieces, when he can bring himself to do it at all, but the long and short of it is, when he's - _Lucifer'_s - beating the crap out of Dean, when the end seems near, when it seems like Lucifer will get his way even though Dean still won't give in - it's Sam who - comes to himself, if only for a moment.

It's hard - nearly impossible - to get a hold of himself with Lucifer right there, controlling Sam's every move, overpowering every thought, but what does it, what pulls Sam out of everything is the amulet.

Dean's amulet.

He'd kept it and hidden it in various pockets, sometimes in the inside lining of his jacket but other times in the front pocket of his jeans, usually when he was by himself and had taken it out and looked at it sitting in the palm of his hand. More than a dozen times he'd thought of handing it back to Dean, but something always held him back, made him stuff it back into his jeans or his jacket.

Other times, Sam forgot about it entirely, at least for a little while, what with everything going on.

And this was the case right up before meeting up with Castiel and Bobby, getting sidetracked by Pestilence and Death, drinking the demon blood, going to Detroit. Saying yes.

Sam hadn't thought about the amulet in weeks - wasn't even necessarily sure he knew which pocket it was in, either some pair of jeans or his jacket.

He - Lucifer's - got Dean on the ground, has beaten Dean nearly unconscious and it's when Dean's clutching at Sam's jacket and slurring, "I know you can hear me, Sammy," that Dean somehow pulls the jacket enough so that the amulet falls out of one of the pockets and right onto the ground in front of Sam.

And somehow, Sam manages to break through and see it.

_There is someone besides Michael strong enough to take on Lucifer. Strong enough to stop the apocalypse. The one who began everything. God. This amulet. It burns hot in God's presence. It'll help me find him._

The amulet - Dean's amulet - Castiel's words -

Sam grabs it and the moment he does, he feels Lucifer - recede or something a little bit further, enough so he can actually get to Dean. "Dean, we have the amulet," is what he spits out, is all he can get out.

If Dean has any idea what Sam's talking about, he doesn't say, but he does hear that it's Sam talking and not Lucifer, and he clutches at Sam even harder. "Sammy, I -"

"Dean, listen." He holds up the amulet, but blood is literally streaming down Dean's face and trickling into his eyes and he likely can't see two inches in front of him, is just going on Sam's voice alone. "I have the amulet. Cas - about God. We - hang on Dean, we can - get this."

"No good, Sammy - remember?"

_It burns hot in God's presence._

Sam can't explain anymore - he can feel Lucifer trying to get him to go at Dean again, can actually feel him lifting Sam's arm and curling his hand - the one holding the amulet and then he feels the palm of his hand burning, and Dean's amulet is glowing white as if it's just been held against a blazing fire for awhile.

And, again, Sam feels Lucifer - shrink away even further - feels his own thoughts begin to form once again.

_There's someone strong enough to take on Lucifer _-

**Ask. **

It's only one word, but it comes out of nowhere and startles Sam enough so that he almost drops the amulet. He knows Dean didn't say it, and while it's entirely possible Lucifer is fucking around with him, he's pretty certain it wasn't him either. _But it can't be, _Sam has time to think. _It can't be what - who - he thinks it is, who Castiel said it would be -_

_That's right, Sam. Don't believe everything you hear._

Lucifer again, lulling him. But he's further away, as if being held at bay by something - someone - and it's possible for Sam to push him away for now.

**And whatever you ask in My name, that I will do.**

The voice again, and this time Sam's doubts wither away.

He's shaking so hard he can hardly hold onto the amulet, can hardly think what he should be doing, what he should be saying now that he's got fucking God in his presence, can feel it - Him? - everywhere. He can't see anything, as if the glow from the amulet has somehow grown and now completely surrounds Sam.

He doesn't stop to think about it, it just somehow comes to him.

"Stop the Apocalypse."

**Why?**

The one word answer should be a slap in Sam's face but strangely it isn't. He doesn't feel defeated or even angry but crazily, like he's supposed to try again, ask for this another way, almost like God - or whoever - is trying to get Sam to have a conversation with Him.

Or something.

So Sam tries again.

"So humanity can be saved." It's the right answer - the reason he and Dean are doing this - but even as he says it, it sounds almost corny. It's _not_, it's the truth, but for some reason it doesn't sound completely right to Sam, like maybe he's missed something.

**Humanity is lost. Very few worthy remain.**

Again, that feeling that Sam's being drawn out, rather than berated.

_God doesn't want you to lie to Him. He doesn't want some made up answer that you think He wants to hear. He's too smart for that shit. He wants to hear what you, Sam Winchester, think._

"So Dean can be freed from this. So this constant weight can be lifted from him. He's done so much for so many already and he's done so much for me that I - want him to finally have some peace."

The words are out of Sam and they feel good, they feel right, they definitely feel heartfelt.

But there is silence then, nothing but the brightness and the feeling that Lucifer is getting further and further away, even as each breath Sam takes becomes slower and easier. He doesn't know what's happening or where Dean is, but he feels more - at ease - than he's felt in his entire life, and he wonders if this is what it feels like to be dying, and this feeling lasts until he comes to in the back of the Impala, slumped against Dean - who's cradling Sam in his arms like a baby or something, Castiel riding shotgun while Bobby drives like a bat out of hell.

Then everything goes black for an indeterminable amount of time.

**/**

The next thing Sam is aware of is Dean's voice.

It's faraway. It's low and raspy but Sam would recognize the sound of it anywhere.

"Goddamn it, Sam, you'd better not go out on me like this, you have my fucking kidney inside you and you've already put it through enough. We're home free, and you're not giving up now. So pull your fucking shit together."

Well, Jesus. Sam manages to crack his eyes open.

He's clueless, doesn't know the where's or how's of anything, but his apparent return to consciousness brings a smile to Dean's face.

Which, incidentally, looks like shit. His eyes are barely open, grotesquely swollen, both bruised a deep purple-black, dried blood caked around the stitches he has across his cheek and his neck.

It sounds almost like the exact words Dean said to him when he'd given Sam his kidney back in Baltimore. But Sam has no context right now, no idea why Dean would be jabbering this shit at him when the only time he has problems with his - Dean's - kidney - is when he drinks the demon blood.

Things suddenly begin to rush in, bits and pieces. "Dean - what's - " But there's no way for him to say anything else - the nausea hits him and he's suddenly leaning and puking, and Dean's got it, is holding something under his mouth, some kind of bowl until Sam's finished and then he's wiping Sam's face, brushing his hair away and easing him back against the pillow. "It's all good, Sam," he says. "Don't worry. We're both - safe. Everything turned out fine. The only thing you need to worry about is making sure that fucking kidney of your's doesn't fail on you. You'll be okay, you just need to stick with me here."

_Safe. Both of them. _Sam still has so many more questions, so much more he wants - needs - to say, but he slips back into unconsciousness once more, the brush of Dean's hand pushing his hair from his face, the low sound of his voice the last thing Sam remembers.

**/**

It takes awhile, but Sam comes around for real.

The effects of the demon blood slowly leave him and he recovers a little more each day. His - Dean's - kidney takes up like it's supposed to, and gradually the threat to his health lessens to the point where Sam can tell he'll be okay, that he's gotten past the danger point.

There are other things, things that Sam doesn't fully remember or understand, and when he's finally on the mend and up to hearing some of it, it's Bobby and Castiel in particular, who let him in on some of it, tell Sam that the things he and Dean said to God were what staved off the Apocalypse, the things that they said - that whatever he heard from the Winchester brothers was enough to change his mind and hold back Armageddon, at least for the foreseeable future. "How much do you remember?" Castiel asks.

"Not a whole lot," Sam says. "Just that I realized I had the amulet and I somehow knew to use it."

Castiel looks at him. "It burned hot in God's presence."

"Yeah. I guess you could say that. I don't know, exactly. I just know that God - or whoever - asked me some questions and I answered. And that's all I really remember."

That's not entirely true. Sam remembers some of the things he said in a very vague way. He just doesn't quite remember the specifics.

But even if he did, Sam isn't sure he would give them up.

Not about this, something so important.

_Which, _he finds himself thinking. _Is probably the reason I don't really remember anything._

"Wait a minute," he asks Castiel at one point. "Are you saying God talked to Dean, too? That he had to answer questions or whatever, like I did?"

"You both did," Castiel acknowledges. "First you and then Dean. And no, before you ask, I don't know what Dean said, what was asked of him or how he answered. Just like I don't know what you said. The only thing I do know is that I was - informed - by someone high up that the Apocalypse was stopped."

"What source?"

"Joshua."

"Joshua! But he's the one who said the amulet wouldn't do us any good. Did he say why God changed his mind about - helping stop it?"

"He stopped it because of the things you and Dean said to Him," Castiel says. "He intervened because he saw that you had enough faith to keep the amulet even when it seemed like there was no reason in the world to do so." The look on Castiel's face is unlike any look Sam's ever seen from him, something resembling joy. "He did exactly what I always hoped my Father would do. Heard your cries, listened to what you and Dean had to say and answered."

**/**

"What about the demon blood I drank?" Sam asks. "Is that why - did it make me sick?"

"Worse than it ever has." Bobby's voice is neutral, but something flickers in his eyes that Sam doesn't miss. "But you're fine now."

"Why didn't Dean bring me to the hospital? If I was in that bad of shape?" It seems so out-of-character for Dean, not to hustle Sam's ass into the nearest medical facility at the first sign of Sam's kidney problems, given Dean's past - thoroughness - in such situations.

"He thought about it, was _this_ close -" Bobby holds his fingers together to demonstrate - "to bringing you in because everything seemed like it was going so bad. But he knew what to do, told me and your angel pal what we had to do and - you pulled out of it." He clears his throat a little. "But in answer to your question, he couldn't bring himself to take you to a hospital because he didn't want you out of his sight for even one second. We tried to argue with him, make him see reason but you know how he is."

Sam knows perfectly, can even hear Dean's voice in his head: _No, I'm not taking him to any fucking hospital. I need him here, with me, after all that's happened. I need to know he's going to be all right._

So, yeah. Sam gets why he's sitting here at Bobby's with Bobby and Castiel as his round-the-clock nurses, Dean his primary physician and unofficial procurator of such things as IV lines and saline solution and whatever else it takes to keep Sam's kidney functioning - and if anyone knows what it takes to do this, it's Dean. It makes sense on one level and it's not a matter of trust, Sam has always trusted Dean with anything concerning his health ever since he can remember.

But a lot of it is still unclear and troubling in a way - and maybe not a bad way, but troubling nonetheless.

Castiel makes it clear that it was a dual effort, that Dean's words - whatever they were - and Sam knows he'll never find that out, just as Dean will never find out what Sam's pleas were - as well as Sam's were more important in thwarting the Apocalypse than any epic Lucifer-Michael showdown, any physical confrontation that took place, any chasing after rings and Horsemen and demon-blood and angels versus demons or who ended up triumphing over who.

Sam doesn't get it. Not really. All he gets is that, at the end of the day, he and Dean said and did the right things - maybe even went so far as to do "God's will," and all that, and the Apocalypse was avoided and Dean and Sam are alive - a little worse for the wear but definitely alive - and Bobby is still alive - hell, even Cas, despite losing his angel status and being relegated to pretty much a mere human as part of the fallout of everything - is still intact, and at the end of the day, that's all that matters to Sam.

He and Dean are going to get another chance to do this thing called life. The right way. The way things are supposed to be done.

Sam can't but help but look at it as a new start.

/

They stay at Bobby's for awhile, recovering from their various injuries and what-not. It's slow going - not just because of the concern regarding the demon blood and the effect on Sam's kidney - but because Dean hasn't completely escaped everything either.

He's hurt - Sam gets that much, knew it when he first opened his eyes and saw the condition of Dean's face. _I did that. Even if it was Lucifer in there, I did that to him._ But beyond that, the physical trauma Dean's sustained, Sam feels like there's more to it than that. Dean insists he's fine - which is par for the course, he always insists he's fine - and in spite of the injuries - the concussion, the stitches, the bruising that blankets his body from chest to waist - Dean _does_ seem fine, seems like himself, at least mentally. Sam can see that Dean's okay, has managed to survive everything.

But he took a beating at the hands of fucking Satan - _Sam as Satan, there's no trying to deny that so why even fucking try_ himself, and it's Bobby and Castiel who somehow keep the two of them from taking off earlier than they should, somehow figure out that neither of them should leave before they're at least physically healed enough to take care of themselves.

So, yeah. Convalescence. It's unfamiliar to both of them. It sucks. More than imaginable.

But they do it. They sleep and eat and Dean makes sure that Sam's kidney is working like it's supposed to and Sam makes sure that none of Dean's injuries are getting any worse than they already are, and Castiel and Bobby are the go-betweens, and make sure they eat and sleep and - in Sam's case, piss regularly and without blood mixed into it or vomiting over the side of the bed, and in Dean's case, check that his injuries don't become infected or his concussion doesn't turn into something more.

Gradually, both of them regain their heath. Slowly but surely.

They sort of take care of each other in their stumbling, fumbling way, and between that and Castiel and Bobby, they become well enough to - move on.

Whatever that may end up being.


	6. Chapter 6

After all of the Apocalypse shit is put to rest - and isn't that one of the freakiest sentences to ever grace the English language, Sam thinks - more than once - and both he and Dean are physically recovered enough to leave Bobby's and things are settled, it takes them awhile to realize that they're free.

Really free.

There are, of course, steps taken on their behalf - both tangible and not-quite-so-obvious-right-away signs - that they've been removed from all of it - not just from what went on in Detroit but from their hunting lives as well. However it's done - and Castiel, while he himself has no real hand in it, does understand some of how and what takes place, and is able to let them in on what God - whoever He might be - has decided to do for them as a "reward"- it's done in a swift and efficient and ever-surprising manner.

Their police records are erased, every mug shot, wanted picture, felony charge, prison sheet is gone, as though it never existed. According to Castiel, no one will be looking for Dean and Sam Winchester in regard to any criminal activity ever again.

Their credit history is restored to perfect. The credit card fraud, the insurance scams, the collection agency records are gone. From here on out they can buy a car, a house - even a business even if they want. Sam can go back to school - his record at Stanford remains glowing and untouched. Hell, even Dean could go to college if he wanted, could get a loan with one trip to a bank.

The sigils are painlessly removed from their ribs without them even realizing it until Castiel tells them, their protection no longer a necessity. They are out of that life now. Their identities have been deleted from Hell, and neither the demons nor the angels will be on their asses. Their names are apparently scrawled in something called the Lamb's Book of Life - whatever the fuck that is - something that neither one of them really has any understanding of, other than what Castiel yaps to them - something about neither of them ever having to worry about going to Hell ever again, and their names in this book being the only security they'll need from now on.

They'll never hunt again.

They won't have to.

They can't, even if - for some unholy reason - they would want to. They've been redeemed, are now protected and invisible from anything in the supernatural realm.

It's as if they can finally begin to believe that they are done with all of this shit for good now - no strings, no attachments, no looking back, nothing waiting to drag them back in - no deals, no payments waiting to be collected, no demonic or supernatural bargaining chips to be thrown at them at the last minute.

From what it appears, according to Castiel's explanations of what's happened - the reward from God for their efforts - both before the Apocalypse business and during it - is the door busting wide open for the two of them to start a new life.

**/**

Surprisingly, it's much harder for Sam to adjust to everything than Dean.

To suddenly be faced with freedom - freedom to live the life he's always pictured, freedom that he's imagined having since he was just a kid - is overwhelming to him. Overwhelming in a good way, but overwhelming nonetheless.

He's healthy and he's out of the hunting.

Forever.

It's as if he doesn't know what to do with himself.

Of course, Dean doesn't either. Not really. He's just as uncertain about his future and which direction he wants it to go in as Sam is.

But he's better at facing the uncertainty, the scope of all of it. "I'm all for just kicking back and letting whatever happens happen for awhile," he tells Sam, more than once, when they find out the magnitude of their "reward," how much their lives are about to change. "It's like I just won the freaking lottery, Sammy. I plan on savoring every minute and taking my time with everything. Hell, we're still young. We've got lots of time."

And while Sam agrees, he isn't as patient as Dean, has a restlessness to him that Dean doesn't seem to have. His first urge is to get his ass over to school somewhere - anywhere, it really doesn't matter - and get going on figuring out what he wants to do now that he can actually think about having a career. A profession. More than that - he'd like to just bury himself in words and ideas and things that aren't related to demons and Hell and goddamn Lucifer and the end of the fucking world, and going to school and focusing on that seems like as good a way to do that as any.

And that doesn't even include Sam's thoughts about possibly - meeting someone. Or - Jesus - maybe someday having a family.

He can't believe he's letting himself think this way but he can't help it. The possibilities stretch before him and he hasn't been this happy in years - at least since Stanford. Maybe ever.

Everything's over. It all worked out and he and Dean both survived intact. It's more than Sam could've hoped for and beyond his deepest dreams.

But, as eager as Sam is, he's also somewhat content - for now - to take it easy, linger behind with Dean and just do a lot of nothing.

Well, not _completely _nothing.

Because of who they are and the life they've led, they do stay with what they know.

Driving around and stopping in random places.

They aren't hunting, of course, they aren't even missing that aspect of their lives, but it's as if the two of them can't figure out what to do while they're trying to - figure out what they want to do. In the meantime, it's a huge comfort to drive for awhile and then stop in a seedy motel and hang out together and do nothing. They drive here or there and stop when they want, often at places they've been to dozens of times but never had a chance to really see when they were worried about _saving people and hunting things._

Now it's as if they're tourists in a country they know like the back of their hands. They've nowhere specific to go, nowhere they have to be and they treat it as such, sometimes visiting places that look interesting and sometimes just holing up in the room for a day or two and doing nothing.

Doing whatever they feel like.

And, most important? At least to Sam?

Reconnecting with Dean, making sure that things are good between them.

Because at some point, the two of them will split up, at least for awhile. Sam will go back to school. This he knows for sure even if he doesn't know where this will be or what he'll do once he gets there.

And Dean? He doesn't say, plays his cards close, but he doesn't seem worried about it, seems, in fact, more relaxed and - happier - than Sam has seen him. Sam suspects Dean might go to Indiana, go visit Lisa and Ben and see what develops from there. But for now, Dean doesn't seem to be in any kind of hurry to get there - or anywhere for that matter - and Sam takes his cue from him on that, forces himself to match his pace to Dean's and not look at everything at such a frantic rush. He owes it to Dean to give him some time - quality time - even if that time is spent doing pretty much nothing.

They continue on, traipse around together. Not more than once, Sam wonders if there's going to be permanent damage or fallout awaiting them somewhere down the line, from everything that's taken place - how can there not be, with everything they've been through, the things they've had to do? He knows that everything is still so new, the relief at being alive and - more importantly - everyone else being alive - is enough to cover up any scarring he and Dean may face from everything. It makes Sam a bit uneasy, the thought that the two of them might end up fucked over big time from all this, that once the novelty of being free wears off they might find out they've got real emotional issue to deal with - but for now, it's easier to push it down than address any of it.

In time, Sam thinks. Things will come up and we'll - take care of them. No sense in borrowing trouble.

Things are good between them right now.

And really, Sam thinks, that's the most important thing.

**/**

It all starts off purely innocent. How everything comes about while they're doing the "traversing-the-country" thing.

First, they head east. No real reason, other than they need to go somewhere and Dean just happens to point the car in that direction when they leave South Dakota. They don't talk about a destination at first, just kind of meander their way through Minnesota and then Iowa and over to Illinois, stopping here or there, doing this or that. "I've got an idea," Sam says, when they're stopped in some hick town in southern Illinois, not far from the Missouri border. "Let's head out to Arizona. You've never been there. It'll be warm. Or, at least warmer than the Midwest or out East."

He doesn't say anymore, but the smile on Dean's face tells Sam he doesn't have to.

_The Grand Canyon._

"You sure?" Dean asks. "I mean, we've got time. We can go anywhere."

"Then that's the anywhere I want to go," Sam says. And he does - it's true that they've never been to Arizona, other than passing through, Sam's Flagstaff runaway sojourn notwithstanding - and how they got so damn lucky as to not ever have to hunt anything in that state, Sam will never know - and it will be pleasantly warm compared to a lot of the country, but mainly he suggests it because he knows Dean will like it.

Plus, it seems like a good starting-off point. A good place to take their time getting to, a good place to hang out for a little bit and then a nice, neutral spot to decide where they should go next, what their next moves will be. Maybe together, but Sam thinks probably not, at least not for awhile. He thinks Dean will be ready to go out on his own then, want to land somewhere and decide what he wants to do from then on. He's mentioned Lisa and Ben a couple of times now - only in the vaguest of ways, but Sam knows his brother well enough to realize that for Dean, this is how he starts to sort things out in his head as far as what he wants try and accomplish.

Sam thinks they'll both be ready by then to take those next steps toward whatever their new lives might be.

**/**

The first observation Sam makes about their whole cross-country expedition is almost ridiculous in how - nothing it really is.

Dean sleeps.

That's it.

Of course, that's not _completely_ it - he doesn't sleep 24/7.

More like sixteen hours out of twenty-four, just about every day.

He lets Sam do a lot - really, the majority - of the driving while he sleeps. Not dozes, but full on sleeps - in the passenger seat, his head pressed into a pillow that's propped against the glass.

Sam's heart catches in his throat a little when he sees the sun glinting off Dean's hair one of those times he's asleep, the threads of gray weaving through and catching the light. He's tired, Sam thinks. That's all. He's said it over and over, not just this past year but since I got out of school. He's worn out. Once he rests he'll be fine.

When Dean's awake he _is _fine, totally normal, participates in whatever it is they've decided to do. His appetite seems a little off - maybe still the aftereffects of Detroit - but it's not like he isn't eating or anything. It's just that he's not eating - as much.

Then again, maybe that's normal fallout, given how much he's sleeping.

On its face, it's a little strange, Dean sleeping a lot because he's never been one to want or need much sleep. Ever. But especially the last couple of years, when he's been getting by with a few hours here and there at best.

Yet in the big picture, it's really not that strange at all, all the sleeping he's suddenly doing. At least, that's what Sam tries to tell himself. He's entitled to the rest after everything he's been through, he certainly deserves it, and even if it seems odd that he's suddenly sleeping for twelve hours at a time, and taking naps on top of it, when that would've been unthinkable before, there's no way Sam is going to question him or tell him not to sleep so much.

But for some reason he can't quite finger, it nags at him.

Just a little - like while it's okay for Dean to be sleeping so much, it's somehow not okay, that something about it is odd. Out of character. Maybe even a tiny bit worrisome.

Or, it would be if Dean wasn't acting totally like himself otherwise. He seems calm, at peace, definitely mellow.

Just tired.

Exhausted, really.

It's okay, Sam tells himself again. It'll pass. He's been through a lot. He can finally have a chance to recharge and get strong. Start enjoying his life finally. It's just going to take him awhile to get there.

Everything makes sense. It does.

But Sam is still - thoughtful.

**/**

The next thing that happens is Dean comes down with a cough, sort of out-of-the-blue in the sense that it's not like a cold or the flu, it's just that one day he's seemingly fine and the next he's sick, but the only symptom is the off-again, on-again hacking cough that plagues him, especially at night. A week goes by and Sam doesn't say anything, gives the benefit of the doubt, and then one week of it turns into two and two quickly slides into three and just about a month has passed and Dean is still coughing, still looking not-quite-right at times and is still worn out on top of it. "I think you might've caught something," Sam tells him in the middle of the night, when Dean returns from the bathroom after going in there to alternately drink water and cough his brains out, closing himself in there so he doesn't keep Sam awake, though both of them know it's futile, Sam is as wide awake as Dean. "It's flu season, you know."

If he didn't know any better, he would think Dean was having a relapse of the Pestilence sickness - the symptoms bearing a similarity in some ways - but Castiel had reassured them when everything had ended that anything involving the angels and the demons and the Horsemen and whatever else had affected them would never be an issue, was permanently erased from their lives, much as their criminal records had been.

"Then it'll go away eventually," Dean says, climbing back into his bed, clearing his throat. "Can't remember the last time I was sick." He grimaces a little. "I mean, other than that Pestilence crap, but that doesn't really count. I was probably due."

And it's true, Sam can't deny that. Dean is very rarely sick. "Yeah, but for a whole month?" It's hard not to forget when Pestilence was in the picture, how close that awful virus came to killing both of them even though this isn't that.

"It hasn't been that long, Sammy."

"Yeah, it has, and you sound terrible."

Dean laughs a little, ends up coughing again before reaching over to the nightstand and grabbing the bottle of Jack and knocking back a huge swig. "It's a cough, Sam," he gasps, eyes watering, when he's gotten the whiskey down, set the bottle back on the table. "Generally, they don't sound good."

"At least you could take some real cold medicine," Sam mutters. "It's not like drinking the whiskey helps."

The drinking issue is one of those things Sam thinks about just about every night. How much Dean drinks. It's tapered off some in the past couple of months but it still borders on excessive at times and Sam doesn't like it, has never really _liked _it, but when they were running around saving people and hunting things and then Dean going to Hell and the fucking Apocalypse and having to somehow find a way to cope with everything he saw and did, Sam understood it, understood that Dean was entitled to drink when he needed to.

_One of those things. One of those things that will probably need to be addressed._

He hears Dean settle further into the bed, cough up more crap one last time. "Sure doesn't hurt, though," he says, when he's caught his breath, and Sam knows he's smiling even though he can't see Dean's face, can hear it in the lilt of his voice. "And what do you think they put in those cold medicines to knock you out? Alcohol. And a lot of it."

"Whatever, dude," Sam says, but he smiles because Dean's right, and the smile in his voice is contagious and despite the fact that he's sick he sounds so relaxed and unbothered that Sam can't help but smile himself.

_He's okay. Plenty of time to deal with the drinking and anything else. Don't push it. Let him be happy._

And to Dean's credit, he does stop at a Walgreens the next day and buy some kind of cold and cough medicine, thick syrupy goo that he chugs down, winces and then chases with the whiskey anyway. He doesn't complain but neither does it seem to do him much good, and at the end of the week, when they're in Crescent, Oklahoma just out of Oklahoma City, he's actually spiking a fever and panting for breath, and Sam's done fucking around, doesn't say a word, just gets out the phone book while Dean lies curled up on the bed shivering and trying to breathe, and finds a local clinic where he hauls Dean who wisely - or maybe because he's too sick to do any protesting or fussing - doesn't say a word either.

They listen to his lungs, do a chest x-ray and based on that and Dean's symptoms, diagnose a case of bacterial pneumonia. When they bring in the chest x-ray and point things out, Dean - oxygen mask clamped across his face - still manages to shoot Sam a look and Sam knows exactly what he's thinking. _The missing sigils._ He smiles back at Dean but it's forced - it can't be anything but, given how worried he is about all that's going on.

They prescribe antibiotics and codeine, tell Dean to take ibuprofen every four to six hours. No one seems that concerned - it's not anything to worry about, the nurse tells Sam brightly, a case of the flu can often turn into pneumonia, but Dean is young and healthy and should be feeling better in a few days. Dean himself goes along with everything with more grace than he normally would, even manages to flirt with the nurse between coughing bouts and drags from the oxygen mask, winning her over even as he's about to pass out on the floor.

It's Sam who feels disquieted as they're walking out the door, prescriptions in hand, Dean next to him still coughing and wheezing.

And he doesn't know why he feels so - unnerved. Not really. They've just been told Dean's going to be all right. It's not even serious enough where they wanted to put him into the hospital. It's not as if Dean isn't walking out under his own power or anything.

And, Jesus, they've certainly been through worse than this and come out on the other side able to tell the tale. Dean especially.

_But it's not like Dean to get sick like this. He never has._

_He's been through a lot. After Detroit he probably should've seen a doctor instead of just laying low at Bobby's. It's not a real surprise that he's run down from that, isn't completely a hundred percent._

_This is Dean. He came back from forty years of Hell and never once had a cold. Something more is going on here. Something's wrong._

_Yeah, he's got pneumonia, that's what's wrong._

Sam doesn't know, doesn't get why he's thinking this way, he just gets that, even after he's told himself to calm down, taken a few deep breaths of his own and ducked inside the pharmacy to fill Dean's prescriptions, his hands are shaking when he gives the prescriptions to the pharmacist and he has to shove them into his pockets and clench and unclench them to try and get them to stop.

And he doesn't know why.

**/**

Things go downhill in a blinding hurry after that, after they get back to the motel and Dean bundles himself in one of the beds after dosing himself with the antibiotics, the ibuprofen and a liberal swallow of the cough syrup. For twenty-four hours he does nothing but sleep and take his meds every few hours when Sam rouses him. He's barely conscious and doesn't even get up to use the bathroom which sends certain, strange alarm bells off in Sam's head, alarm bells he's reluctantly able to tune out because at least Dean is coughing less and waking up enough to take his pills, and maybe he's just _that tired_ from everything and Sam is just being an over-sensitive freak about all this.

But then, the second night after they've gotten the meds, Sam is awakened from a restless sleep of his own by the sounds of Dean retching in the bathroom, and he's up in an instant, barely keeping to his feet because he's so groggy, and he finds Dean slumped over the toilet, unable to really get up even after Sam shakes him, yells his name. He ends up hauling Dean bodily back to his bed where he sprawls wordlessly, the sound of his labored breathing frightening to Sam in a way he can't explain.

_Something's wrong, something's really fucked up here -_

Sam tries to think, to itemize everything going on, what's already taken place. Dean sick for awhile - and everyone seemed to think it had been the flu he'd been carting around, a flu turned into pneumonia, which does make sense on a certain level, but it also makes no sense at all in many ways, mainly because Dean hadn't seemed like he had the flu, just some kind of - weariness - and he'd been off before he whole cough thing had started up, tired and not eating before that whole business began. And now, two days into gobbling antibiotics and sleeping nearly round the clock and Dean doesn't seem any better, or like he's even moving in that direction.

_Something's not right here._

He touches Dean's forehead with the back of his hand and it's warm, but not as warm as he'd expected. Dean doesn't flinch, doesn't move and Sam doesn't like it. _Let him sleep, it's what he obviously needs, _and while Sam's brain is making sense, everything else within him is screaming that this is wrong, that this is beyond just sleeping off a case of pneumonia.

He manages to wake Dean again, though just barely, gets him to swallow the antibiotics and a couple sips of water. It doesn't seem like it's enough, that Dean hasn't been awake to drink enough and Sam wonders if maybe that's the problem, that Dean's becoming dehydrated. It's only been a couple of days and he _has _been drinking a little bit - but he also has had a fairly high fever and there was the puking incident and -

And Sam leaves him be. He really isn't sure which step he should take. Right now Dean is asleep - breathing like shit but not coughing and seemingly out like a light - so Sam lets that make the decision for him, to just sit tight for now.

Sam knows he should grab something to eat, should maybe even run out and stretch his legs a little but he can't, not yet. Instead, he sits up on the other bed, flips on the tv and tries to relax. It's just Dean being sick, something he's not used to. Hurt? Critically injured? Both of those, too often to count, but not really full-on sick, at least not unless it was supernaturally driven. _He'll be okay, _Sam thinks.

He thinks he's too tense to rest himself, but the next thing Sam notices is that the room is dark and he hears a horrible choking sound from Dean's bed.

"Dean?"

He's fumbling the bedside lamp on and up and over next to him in one motion. Dean is half on his back, half on his side, _puking in his fucking sleep. _Jesus Christ. "Dean!" Sam grabs him, hauls him up and forward, shakes him, very vaguely aware that there's puke spilling down the front of his shirt - and how the fuck is Dean even able to puke anyway, he hasn't had anything to eat or drink in the past two, maybe three, days.

_Allergic to the antibiotics? _Sam doesn't think so, doesn't remember Dean ever being allergic to anything but he doesn't know what else to think, and it really doesn't fucking matter, what matters is Dean is puking and _unconscious_ and won't wake up even with Sam screaming in his face.

This time, there's no fucking around with some clinic or doctor's office. Sam doesn't hesitate, knows he up against it, and they doesn't have to worry about hiding what they do or who they are anymore and Sam takes just enough time to look up the nearest big hospital in the phone book and then get directions off the computer before half-carrying, half-dragging Dean out to the car and getting their asses there as fast as humanly possible.

And now that they can do this - have the access to the health care without the financial or criminal worry attached when they obviously fucking need it - Sam just hopes it's enough.

It has to be.

**/**

"So, you're saying that Dean's pneumonia caused his kidney to shut down?"

They've been in the hospital almost seven hours and the sky is just beginning to break light. There'd been no fucking around when Sam had gotten there, frantically pulling up to the emergency room entrance and pretty much shouting for help; they'd pulled Dean in, figured out he was critical right away, stabilized him as best they could before hustling him up to the ICU where they ended up putting him on a ventilator.

"The other way around," some guy tells him, a doctor whose name escapes Sam for the moment. "It looks like he's in massive renal failure - probably has been for awhile - which is likely causing his pneumonia and the lung edema and apparently, his liver to fail as well."

To say that Sam is stunned is such an understatement, it's laughable. "But why is he in kidney failure? He seemed fine."

_Oh, really? Asleep more than he was awake? Hardly eating? Being sick for a month and you didn't drag his stubborn ass into a doctor sooner than that?_

_He didn't seem that sick. He was happy. The happiest I've ever seen him. _

_If you would've gotten him in sooner - even by a week - he might not be dying right now -_

_What the fuck is the matter with you, no one said anything about him dying._

"I mean, other than the pneumonia," Sam finishes lamely.

"You did say he has just the one kidney?" the doctor asks. "Did they know this at the clinic where he was diagnosed with the pneumonia?"

"No." For Sam, it's a no-brainer; whenever he lands in the hospital he or Dean always let them know right away that he only has one kidney and that is was donated from Dean, tell them what meds he's taking, give them any information related to the transplant. They're usually the first words out of their mouths, and it's always been that way. But for Dean, unless he's gravely injured and his survival is an issue, it's not something he mentions. "Don't need to," he's told tell Sam, when Sam's nudged him about it. "I'm fine. It's not like it's someone else's kidney. It's not like I'm taking all these drugs like you are. I like to keep it on a need-to-know-basis. The less they know about me - in their little computer files - the better."

"He doesn't always think it's - necessary," Sam goes on, his voice far away and hesitant. Really, he just wants to get in there and see Dean for himself, not babble on about the what-if's and should-have's. "He's never had any trouble. They told him he would be able to do pretty much everything a person with two kidneys could do."

It's been fucking miraculous, really - of all the times Dean's been thrown around a room or shoved into something or the damn accident with the YED and the Impala or when Alistair nearly killed him - never once had Dean's kidney ever stopped working, had never been an issue. It was like he had some sort of kidney protection or something.

Of course, Dean is strong. There's no one around stronger.

And yet - Castiel had, in the not-so-distant past, back in South Dakota, beat the piss out of Dean.

_Oh, really? You're going to lay this on Castiel now? What about you, Sam? What about you letting Lucifer beat the fucking shit out of Dean?_

"Well, from what we can tell, your brother has lost all function of his kidney and the preliminary tests are showing that it's sustained some kind of trauma. Has he been in some sort of accident recently?"

And really, what should Sam tell them? That an angel named Castiel beat the crap out of him a few months back? That he himself - Dean's brother - nearly killed him with his bare hands a little while ago? And even if Sam could mention either of these things, what did it matter? The long and short of it is, Dean's kidney is failing - has failed - and he's on fucking _life support _- and it really doesn't matter how it happened.

Sam just needs everyone to concentrate their efforts on getting it fixed.

"What do you need me to do?" Sam asks, and not for the first time. "Is he going to need a transplant? Because I have people I can call." He doesn't, not really, but he can always start in Baltimore, go back to what he knows and take it from there.

"Mr. Winchester," they tell him calmly. "One thing at a time. First, let's see if we can get his own kidney working again. Then we'll go from there."

They're right, of course, Sam thinks. They're the professionals. Maybe it will be as simple as that, just getting Dean's kidney to function again. God knows, it happened many times when Sam's own kidney was fried - years of getting it to work when it crapped out on him, hospital stays and medication adjustments, this and that kind of treatment. If it worked for him, surely it'll be a go for Dean. The one thing Dean's always had is his health, and there's no one stronger than he is.


	7. Chapter 7

Turns out, it isn't going to be that easy, that simple.

Dean's kidney is completely shot. Like it was pulverized or something and now has no chance in hell of doing what it's supposed to do, what it did so perfectly well for thirty-one years.

They do get him off the respirator and his liver function improves somewhat, but there's no question that he's seriously ill. He's been in critical shape before, near death even, but this is different and Sam can see it right away. Those other times that Dean was close, on the verge of dying, he'd still been all there - injured beyond hope it seemed but still very much Dean whole and - holding on. And still with his fucking kidney intact and working.

This Dean is completely different. It takes a little bit for Sam to see the difference between this time and the other times, but when it does come to him, it smacks him like he's just run into a brick wall.

This Dean seems at peace.

Accepting, almost.

I'll never believe he won't fight, Sam thinks, when the thought becomes too much for him. Whatever goes on, I know Dean won't just give up.

And Sam feels a little better after that, for the gift that is Dean's strength, and feels almost guilty for even thinking that Dean won't come out of this just like he always has.

**/**

"You taking your pills?" Those are the first words out of Dean's mouth as soon as he's off the vent, and fuck it if it doesn't send Sam reeling with all sorts of things, including irritation and happiness because it's exactly what Dean would say and Sam's just so fucking glad to hear him sounding like himself, but deep down, it's not quite right, either, this Dean.

This Dean sounds like he's in good spirits but he also sounds - so, so tired.

_I'm tired, Sam. I'm tired of this job, this life . . . this weight on my shoulders, man. I'm tired of it._

The words are old, from their old life, so Sam tries to brush them away, tries to take this current situation for what it is - Dean accepting what's happening and not getting worked up about it.

_Or maybe it's Dean slipping away._

And, fuck it, Sam thinks, if that isn't what's starting to bother him the most.

"Goddamn it, Dean," Sam breathes out, trying to sound harsher than he feels. "Would you quit always fucking worrying about me every damn minute? I'm not the one lying in the hospital with my kidney failing on me."

And Dean has the nerve to fucking _smirk _at that. "You'd better not be," he says. "I can only take so much of that shit."

"This isn't funny, Dean."

"I never said I was trying to be funny, Sam."

"You do know what's going on, right? How serious everything is?"

"You mean that I'm dying?"

"Who used the word, "dying?"

" 'You're in end stage renal failure and unless you get a new kidney you're going to die, Mr. Winchester,' was what the doc quoted to me about an hour ago, I believe," Dean says. "But I could be a little off on the exact wording."

"He must've told you about going on dialysis, then."

"Yep."

"That's hardly dying."

"You want to sit here and argue semantics, Sam? Because of all the people you want to try that with, I'm probably one of the few who can give you a run for your money on it."

"What are we arguing for in the first place?"

At that, Dean looks honestly surprised. "We're not," he says. "At least, I'm not. I just wanted to know if you're keeping up with your meds. I'm pretty sure they aren't going to be able to find two kidneys for the Winchester brothers, even if we did stop the apocalypse."

"So they talked to you about a transplant?"

"Yeah, a little."

"And you're willing to do it?"

"Well, shit, Sam why wouldn't I be? I don't really have much of a choice, do I?"

And Sam relaxes a little at that, at Dean's words because that sounds more like him, despite how worn he seems, how the slipping away thing seems to be blanketing him right now.

"It might take awhile," Sam cautions.

"I remember."

"Dialysis sucks."

"I was there, Sam."

"I mean it sucks like - it really sucks ass."

"You're not exactly being Mr. Chipper about this whole thing, you know."

"No," Sam says, and looks away. "Sorry." The words catch in his throat, practically choke him. "I - fuck, Dean I don't know. I hope I didn't do this, didn't hurt you when - "

He can't say anymore. Too fucking easy, he thinks bitterly. I should've known we wouldn't walk away free and clear. We never do. There's a price to be paid, there always is.

"Sam."

He jumps out of his own thoughts. "It's okay," Dean says. "It'll be okay, I swear."

And because Dean's never broken this promise before, Sam has no choice but to believe him.

**/**

He calls Bobby, keeps it as brief as possible, just tells him that Dean's kidney is failing and he might need a transplant. Bobby, thank Christ, doesn't ask many questions, just says he'll get the next flight out. Sam feels a slight measure of calm just hearing his voice. Bobby will help them sort this out, give them ideas or things to think about that they've left out, haven't thought of.

Sam doesn't call Castiel but he shows up anyway, stealths his way into Dean's room while Dean is asleep and Sam is looking up information about kidney transplants online. Cas has lost pretty much all of his angel juice, has really no ties to heaven or anything else supernatural at this point, except maybe the ability to discern things in his spirit, feel when certain situations need his presence, but he can still get into a room undetected, until he's practically standing on top of whoever happens to be there.

Sam's not all that surprised to see him and could give a rat's ass how he figured out that he should show or even how he got here. He just about dumps his laptop to the floor in his haste to stand and pull Castiel over to the window so they won't wake Dean. "Cas, what the hell is going on?"

"I - you know I'm not very good with the workings of the human body despite the fact that it appears I'm going to be occupying the rest of my time in this one." He peers closely at Sam and, as always, his expression is unreadable. "I assume Dean is hurt?"

"His kidney is failing," Sam grits out. He has a mother of a headache flaring at the base of his skull. "Out of nowhere. He was sick for a little bit and now they're telling us he's in kidney failure. End stage renal disease. _The same damn thing I had when I was a kid. _He's going to die unless he goes on dialysis or gets a new kidney from somewhere."

"Sam, it sounds like you already have the answers you need," Cas begins. "I'm sorry that Dean -"

Hearing Castiel use an apologetic note is still strange to Sam and it sends him over the edge. "That's not what I'm fucking talking about. I know what's going on with Dean - I get the physical part of it. I want to know why this is happening to him. Why now. Who's doing this to him and what's the reason for it?"

"You don't understand what these doctors think Dean should do next? Is it that they're being unhelpful or -"

"No," Sam interrupts. "The doctors are fine. I know what needs to be done. What I don't know and what I need to know is _why. _Why this, when his is kidney's been fine for fifteen years? Not just fine but fifteen years of putting himself through every kind of - assault known to man - and now he's suddenly dying from kidney failure? Is it demonic or something, is something supernatural doing this to him?"

"No, of course not. It's not possible. You've been brought out from all that. There's no way for you - either of you - to ever go back to any of that. You couldn't even be in the presence of a demon or angel or anything supernatural if you tried."

Sam swallows hard, takes a deep breath. "Then what is it? Why is Dean dying right now when we've done everything we were supposed to do? Had everything cleared from us and all?"

"Sam, I'm guessing he got hurt at some point and just didn't know it - until now - and this is the result of that. Maybe in one of the physical encounters he had this past year or - "

"Cas, you're still not getting it. The how's don't matter - I don't care what the physical reasons are for his kidney shutting down." Though, of course, this isn't entirely true, as it's all Sam's thought about since they found out, whether or not he might've played a part in this in Detroit. "I want to know why God or the angels or whoever it's supposed to be isn't making sure this doesn't happen, why they're allowing him to go through this."

And, Jesus, Castiel finally seems to get it. He steps back from Sam a little, but doesn't look away from him. "There's no way I can know something like that," he says quietly. "It's something that's out of my hands. I don't know anymore than you do."

Sam stops for a moment, long enough to run his hands roughly through his too-long hair and try and get his thoughts in order. Of course, Castiel is right. He's not an angel anymore, not technically. He's exactly where Sam and Dean are as far as being on anyone's radar, either in Heaven or Hell. He's just a regular citizen, one of the common folk. No special privileges or powers or anything else except a vein of discernment about when someone he knows might need him. And a vast store of knowledge from when he was on that side of things, was privy to how some of it all worked.

"Okay," Sam says, when he feels like he might be calmer. "What do you _think _is going on? Just - your best guess as to what's happening to Dean right now?"

And then Castiel looks almost distressed - as distressed as Castiel can look, anyway - before he finally says anything. "My best guess is that - this is supposed to happen."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Everyone has to die, Sam."

Well, fuck me, Sam thinks, almost in wonder. "I don't care about everyone else," he says. "This is Dean, and he's not just "everyone" else. Try another guess because this one is crap."

"Sam, I'm not trying to upset you. I know you're already - upset. But you asked me what I thought is going on here. We know it can't be anything supernatural. So, if it's not that, in my experience, it has to be something - natural. His time. Maybe planned out since the day he was born, maybe decided here in the last couple of months. I can't say which one, both are possible. This may be - Dean's time to go."

Before he even knows he's going to do it, Sam has Castiel pinned against the wall. He's been trying to keep as quiet as possible, and both of them have been whispering so Dean won't hear, but right now, Sam's past the point of caring if Dean wakes up or not. "You'd better hope your theory is wrong," he breathes. "And that this is something fixable. And if I find out that you somehow had a hand in causing this, that fucking beat down you gave him when we were at Bobby's, I swear I'll make that look like a - tickle - compared to what I'll do to you -"

"Sam!"

They both turn. Dean, awake, a murderous frown etched across his face despite his rasping voice and the coughing fit that follows. He's still sick, still can't get rid of the lung infection, is still plagued by the liver problems despite the meds and the dialysis and everything else they've been doing for him. A testament to just how rough of shape he's in and Sam immediately forgets everything else at the moment, drops his hold on Castiel and goes over to him. God, he looks bad, he has time to think, and is ashamed the moment the thought crosses his mind. "What's up? What do you need?"

"What do you mean, what's - up?" Dean says, when he's caught his breath. "Quit going all psycho and picking on Cas." He takes a sip of water from the glass Sam hands him, lifts it in salute to Castiel. "Hey, Cas. What are you doing here?"

Castiel glances at Sam warily before joining him at the bedside. "I heard you were - unwell. I wanted to offer my assistance." He looks over at Sam again. "Is there anything I can get you? Anything you need?"

"Yeah, now that you mention it. You got an extra kidney you can spare?"

**/**

Of course, they check to see if there's a matching kidney for Dean out there, search the country and then, when there isn't one, put him on a waiting list, bump his name to the top because of how critical he is. They test Bobby and even Castiel and - no surprise - neither is even close to being a match, and the questions Castiel puts to everyone about what they're doing to him to see if he could be Dean's potential donor would be downright hilarious were Sam not already past the hilarity stage, had left that level probably right around the fucking apocalypse. In the end it doesn't matter, neither he nor Bobby are matches and they're back to square one.

"It's not the worst thing in the world," Dean's doctor - a Dr. Jamison, some guy who seems smart and competent but who's bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired, someone right up Dean's alley - tells them. "Dialysis is a perfectly acceptable and viable option for Dean. He can live years using that method of treatment, and live a productive life. One step at a time."

Yeah, Sam thinks, and not without his own trace of embittered remembrance. Dialysis is just a fucking joyride. I'm sure Dean will love it.

But, no matter. There's no choice, really. Dean needs a new kidney. There isn't one available for him. Sam suspects it will be as hard to find one for Dean as it was to find for Sam - the strange -whatever it is in their blood that makes finding a match even more difficult than normal, the antibodies or antigens or whatever the fuck that kept Sam from getting a kidney until Dean gave him one of his.

And now, Sam can't even return the favor.

No, it's not the worst thing, having to do the dialysis. It's a pain and it's far from idyllic but if it keeps Dean alive, that's all that matters.

So, no kidney means hunkering down and going back to what they grew up with - the dialysis routine. "Never figured we'd end up putting roots down in Oklahoma," Dean says. "I don't know why but it was probably one of the last places I imagined myself in."

"It's not all that far from Kansas. And it's not the first time we've been here," Sam reminds him.

"Yeah, don't remind me," Dean says. "That fucking wraith. Still pisses me off, that whole thing."

"Actually," Sam says. "I was thinking about that other case. Remember that kid? The one whose Dad worked in the housing development, the thing with the bugs?"

Dean laughs until he coughs, can barely get his breath. "Oh, man, those fucking bugs," he chokes out. "How do you forget something like that?"

"I don't think you can," Sam says. He smiles, in spite of himself. It's hard not to, seeing that Dean's gotten past the horror of what they used to do, is able to take some kind of fondness from those memories. "That seems like so long ago, doesn't it? When was that?"

"Another lifetime," Dean says, and leans back, eyes closed, still catching his breath.

"Yeah," Sam says, and any joy that he took from the moment is gone for him.

It's _this _lifetime he'd give anything to see Dean have.

**/**

First of all, before they can even begin to talk about Dean and dialysis and sending him home and all of that, they need to get him healthy enough to get out of the hospital so he _can _worry about all the shit that goes with being on dialysis and waiting for a kidney. As it stands, his liver function is still messed up, and his lungs are terrible, whatever toxins or bacteria or whatever the fuck that's invaded them from his kidney not working keeping them from really responding to the antibiotics they pour into him. He pants for breath constantly, runs a fever that tends to climb throughout the day, has to sleep half-sitting most of the time, coughs into a fistful of tissues morning and night unless he's wearing a damn oxygen mask, won't - can't - really eat, is attached to tubes that either mainline shit into him or pump shit out of him. Dean handles it well - way better than Sam would've thought - but, of course, he's in a different place now, he's handled way worse than this, and not that long ago.

Sam, on the other hand, can hardly deal with all of it.

Not so much with Dean being in such awful condition - though that's hard enough, seeing him this miserable - but it's more than that.

It's out and out fear that gets hold of Sam and then refuses to let go.

Because in all the times his own kidney failed on him when he was a kid - and it happened at least three times that Sam can remember - he knows he was never as sick as Dean is right now. Sick - yes. Sick quite a bit, even. Hospitalized, medicated, needing to miss school - all of it. But never had Sam gotten to this point, where they couldn't adjust something or give him treatment and he wouldn't get better.

But with Dean, it's as if they're doing everything they possibly can for him and it's not working.

_Everyone has to die sometime, Sam._

No, Sam thinks. Not now, not like this. Not after everything he's been through, all the things he's done for everyone. It doesn't get to happen this way.

He begins to quietly mull possibilities, think of options.

**/**

Dean's primary nurse is awesome, a middle-aged woman named Julia who loves Dean from the get-go, does what she needs to do but refuses to baby him, even brings him some brilliantly hand-woven red and black Navaho water blanket when she finds out they were headed for the Grand Canyon. "Eyes on the prize, boys," is what she tells them, and while Sam knows she likes him as well, the realization that she loves Dean just a bit more is why Sam trusts her completely, why he thinks she just might be able to help him to help Dean.

"Does this place have an ethics committee of some kind?" Sam asks her privately, not long after she gifts them the blanket. "You know, to make decisions about things like putting people on and taking people off of life support - stuff like that?"

She's staring at him, perplexed. "Is this about Dean?"

"Yes. No. Not directly." Suddenly, he gets what she must be thinking, that he must want to discuss what they should do if Dean were to ever need be put on life support because he was comatose or - fuck, the thoughts are too horrible for Sam to contemplate at the moment. "It's not what you're thinking," he adds hastily. "It's more about - me. Some questions I have about what I want to do. About finding a donor."

She relaxes a little, still looks confused. "There's a committee that's on staff that can give you some guidance on that. It's not as formal as what you might be thinking but I think it'll be helpful."

She tells him what needs to be done, the steps they need to take to get the ball rolling. "This won't take very long, will it?" Sam asks. "I mean, be honest with me. He's not doing very well, is he?"

Saying the words out loud hurts more than he thought it would.

"He's pretty sick," Julia admits. "It's pretty unusual for someone to go into kidney failure as quickly as your brother did, and then not respond to the treatments. Then again," she says, quickly. "I've seen people less sick do poorly and really sick people get better. I can't give you any guarantees, Sam, not really. All we can do is wait and see, do what we've been doing."

"So, you've seen miracles happen before."

She hesitates again before answering. "I have," she says. "Just don't ask me to tell you who's going to be on the receiving end of one. It's not my call."

And, fuck if Sam doesn't already understand this better than just about anybody.

**/**

"I want to give my kidney to Dean."

Two days later, and Sam is having his meeting with the hospital ethics board that Julia helped arrange. It's a small group, some lawyer, a couple of doctors and some regular citizen - they all introduce themselves but Sam can't remember their names, isn't really paying attention. Dean's doctor is there, and Sam asked Julia to be there as well.

Whatever this group had been expecting to hear, this certainly couldn't have been it. The room is pin-drop silent for a good half-minute while they figure out who is going to speak first, take this on. One of the doctors that Sam doesn't know speaks first. "I'm sorry," he says. "Is there something I've missed? I was under the impression that you only have one kidney yourself? Or is that not correct?"

"No, that's right," Sam says. "It's Dean's, one of his that he gave to me when I was fourteen. I want to - have it transplanted back into him."

"Mr. Winchester, you need one kidney to live. Surely you must know that."

"Of course I know it," Sam says. "It's the reason I want to give it to Dean, seeing as he doesn't have a functioning one right now."

Nervous glances between them - they think he's lost it. "I'd be happy to go back on the dialysis," Sam says, to help them out a little. "I've lived on it before. I'd like to do it again and let Dean have my kidney. Well, it's actually _his _kidney, if you think about it. So I guess what I want to do is give it back to him."

It dawns on them, what he's proposing, and when the first wave shock collectively passes, there's almost a mini-explosion in the room. "Mr. Winchester, this is hardly an appropriate time or place to be so - flippant," the other doctor who Sam doesn't know chimes in. "We're trying everything we can to help your brother."

"I'm not being flippant," Sam says. "I'm being serious. And I'm sorry if I'm not coming across that way because I promise you, I've never meant anything as much as I mean this."

"Sam," Dr. Jamison says, and at least this is someone Sam knows by name in the sea of unfamiliar faces. "You must know that we could never do what you're proposing. I think I understand how much you want to help your brother - I think we all understand - but you only have one kidney, and even if it is the one Dean gave you, there's no possible way this can take place. It's not ethically or morally sanctioned."

"But I want to do it," Sam argues. He's beginning to feel a bit desperate, even though he knew, deep down, they wouldn't go for this. "I'm fully aware of what the risks are to me, what could happen, how I'll have to start all over again, go on the dialysis, maybe get another transplant -"

"Mr. Winchester, your sentiments are noble. Beyond noble. But no reputable doctor in this hospital - in this country - would do what you're asking, whether you want to do it or not. We're not in the business of taking someone's health and intentionally leaving him in worse condition than he was before. And what you're asking us to do would do just that."

Sam had known it wasn't going to fly. Still. The knowledge, the acceptance, doesn't make it all hurt any less. They sit and wait and watch - these people who have both his and Dean's best interests at heart, but who don't know him or Dean at all, don't have any understanding of how - important Dean's life is, how much it's worth.

"Then what is he supposed to do?" he asks, when he thinks he's able to talk again.

"He's on the waiting list," Julia says quietly, when it's apparent no one else is going to answer. "Meanwhile, all he can do is what he's been doing."

"The dialysis?" His voice doesn't even sound like his, it sounds old and worn and - fragile.

"Yes."

"For the rest of his life?"

"Until we find a match."

_Not good enough, _Sam thinks. _Not for Dean._

The meeting closes, everyone shakes his hand, wishes him good luck and all that bullshit. The last person to approach him is a woman who introduces herself as Jeanie something or other. "I don't have any fancy degrees attached to my name," she tells Sam. "I'm just on this committee as a "regular" person - someone who's opinion isn't driven by the legalities or the medical aspects of everything. It probably won't make you feel better, but if I was able to make this decision, I'd probably let you go ahead and donate your kidney to your brother." She smiles at him. "I have a sister and if that were her, I'd want to do the exact same thing."

Her words _do _make him feel better.

"I'm going to have them test me, to see if I'm a match," she tells Sam, and he's still so caught up in everything else that's gone on, he almost doesn't hear her. "I know it's a long shot, but who knows? It doesn't hurt to try."

"Thank you," he says. He knows it's a long shot as well, that the chances of her being a match for Dean are slim to none. "Thank you so much."

But something within him loosens at her - kindness - her generosity toward some stranger, something that chips and falls away within him, something Sam didn't even know was there until now, something to do with right decisions and everything he and Dean - but especially Dean - have done for so many strangers over the years being worth it.

Things having to do with the idea that Dean has saved so many strangers in his lifetime - good people who Sam may just be getting a glimpse of when he needs it.

The measure of comfort is tiny, but it's there.

**/**

Not surprisingly, they find out a couple days later that Jeanie isn't a compatible donor for Dean.

**/**

They press on. For each day it seems like Dean might be getting better - his lungs clearing, his liver function righting itself, the dialysis doing its job - there are three days where his blood draws are off the charts, where he's moments away from having to go back on the ventilator because everything is in danger of shutting down - his heart, his lungs, his liver. There are fevers and times when Dean's out of his head, unsure of where he is or what's going on. He's hooked up to more things than Sam ever remembers being attached to - even in his worst moments - and he looks horrible, is beginning to veer toward "wasting away" territory.

Yet, Sam knows Dean's still with them. Hasn't given up. Is fighting with whatever he has left.

Sam has asked him, more than once. "You won't give up on me, right? You're all in?"

"Always," Dean will say. Or gasp, when things are really bad and he can't really breathe, which seems to be happening more often than not these days.

But despite his determination and Sam's support, things aren't getting better. Even if Dean seems more lucid, more like himself some days, the fact is, they can't get him to a place where the dialysis is working, where they feel comfortable weaning him off the meds and support he's on so he can get his ass out of this hospital.

Sam tries to be patient. Tries to accept that Dean is just that sick and it might not be the same for him as it was for Sam, that things might have to go slower and Dean might not come back from this as quickly as Sam did. He tries to shove down the fear and the worry and the picture of Dean struggling from one day to the next smacking him right in the fucking face, and concentrate on the idea that this is just going to take time and a little more effort than he'd first thought.

But the truth is, if the dialysis was going to work, Dean would be better by now.

Sam understands this better than anyone.

**/**

And in the end, he's more right than he's ever wanted to be. About anything.

The doctors end up pulling Dean off the dialysis themselves. Of course, they talk to Dean about it first, tell him it's not working, that even with it he's not getting better, that his body is still shutting itself down. The outcome will be the same either way, whether he keeps receiving the treatment or not and it's just a matter of whether Dean wants to be strapped to the fucking machines or doped up out of his mind when everything gives out.

Of course, no one puts it like that - Sam isn't even in on the initial conversation Dean has with the doctors about all this, but that's the gist of it when Sam hears it from Dean, that everything's being stopped because it's not working. "So, you want to just give up?" Sam asks him. "Not try to fight this?"

"Did you even hear anything the doctors said?" Dean says. He's talking around an oxygen mask, which he hates but which he pretty much needs almost all the time now. No one - least of all Dean - wants him to have to go on a ventilator but that seems to be where everything might be heading. "Nothing they're doing is working, Sam. I mean, if you want me to keep having the treatment even though it isn't all that pleasant and I'll still end up dying anyway, then okay, I'll keep doing it."

I want him to have peace. The words are familiar to Sam yet in a weird way or not, but regardless, he doesn't want Dean to lie here being anymore miserable than he already is, having things done to him that are going to hurt if they're not going to help.

But he's not ready to let Dean die yet, either. And that's what will happen - is going to happen - in a few days, maybe a couple weeks - barely anytime at all - unless some kind of miracle takes place.

"Maybe a donor will be found," Dean murmurs, already getting tired. Sometimes it's a chore for him to stay awake more than an hour at a time. "So, no, I haven't given up."

And Sam feels ashamed at this, the idea that Dean would ever give up on anything, but he also knows how hard it was to find a donor for him, that there's not enough time and not enough donors. "I know you haven't," he tells Dean, just as Dean's falling asleep. "You're right, that's our best hope and it could happen."

But he says the words for Dean's sake, and nothing more.

Sam is already beginning to make some contingency plans.


	8. Chapter 8

Okay, so Sam's exhausted all his legitimate channels, all his above-board, on-the-up-and-up options.

He calls Castiel.

It's not as easy to get a hold of him as Sam would've thought, though that likely has more to do with Cas' lack of technological savvy than anything. Sam ends up leaving him a series of cryptic voice mails that he's not even sure Castiel is receiving but when he does show up at the hospital, he doesn't seem surprised that Sam wants to see him.

"I need to summon someone," Sam says, ushering Castiel into an unattended waiting area while Dean is sleeping, not bothering to waste time with idle chatter. "Talk to him. Or her."

Castiel looks confused at this, but then again, it's the look that graces his face about sixty percent of the time. "And you - need me to - help you do this?"

"Yes. Exactly. I need you to help me. I need to - get in touch with a demon."

Rarely has Sam seen Castiel's facial expression change in the course of conversation, but it changes now, slips into something other than his usual blank look. "I'm not sure I heard you right," he says. "Or I've misunderstood."

"No, you heard right," Sam says. "I need to get a hold of a demon."

"Sam, we've been through this. It's not possible. You can't. You're protected from all that now. Permanently."

"Then I need you to go for me. Get a hold of - whoever it is I need to get a hold of. Someone I can make a deal with for Dean. Start with the Crossroads Demon. That's as good a place to begin as any."

"I don't have that authority, Sam. Nor that power." He stops, comes closer to Sam and stares at him intently. "But even if I could make something like that happen, you must know I wouldn't."

"Not even if it meant saving Dean's life?"

"I thought he was going to do the - treatment - until they could find him a donor?"

Sam closes his eyes, can't look at him, can't face what he's about to say out loud. "The treatment's not working so they've had to stop it. They're not going to be able to find a kidney in time. He's got maybe a few days at most. So I need you to help me do this, Cas. There's no other options. If you've ever done anything for Dean - anything - you'll find a way to make this happen. I don't care what you have to do, what channels you have to go through. You owe him. _We _owe him."

"Sam, my so-called "channels" as you put it are the exact same as your's." Goddamn it, but Castiel's reasonable voice is maddening. Always has been, and Sam wonders briefly how Dean didn't haul off and pop him one just about every time they spoke to each other.

Again, the passing of some sort of look across Castiel's face that Sam can't read. "Sam, there's nothing I can do to help him. There's nothing you can do to help him. At least not in that way."

"You don't get it." Sam swallows hard, unsure if he'll be able to say anything else. "I - he can't go yet, There's - he and I - we were just finally starting to get back to where we once were," he finishes in a whisper.

"Sam, it'll never be what it once was. It can't be, too much has happened. You've both changed too much."

It's true, and Sam knows it. "I can still try and - earn his forgiveness."

"He's already given that to you. A long time ago."

_Fucking Castiel._ "So, what the fuck are you saying, Cas?" Sam demands. "Just give up and - let him die?"

"I'm not saying to give up," Castiel says. "But the route you want to take is closed to you. Of that I'm certain. And even if it wasn't, Dean would never allow it. You know he wouldn't."

"He's done so many things, for so many people, Cas. And now he's lying here, dying of something I should've died from a long time ago. He's saved people and they didn't even know it, and the whole damn world should know it, everyone should know who Dean Winchester is, the things he's done, the sacrifices he's made and instead he's dying alone and without - anything. How is that right?"

It's too much, all of it, this whole thing, starting from back in the day when Sam needed a fucking kidney up through the damn apocalypse, which Dean somehow managed to survive but what's effectively going to kill him anyway.

_Not the apocalypse, that's not what's killing him, it's you, Sam, it's always you that puts him in this position of having to sacrifice for you - _

He squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn't cry. Breaking down in front of Castiel would be a first that Sam most definitely doesn't want to participate in.

"He's not alone. He's got you. You're the one who'll be with him. And that's always been the most important thing to him. If that's the only thing you ever end up doing for him, Sam - and I know it isn't, but even if it is - let that be the most important thing you do for him right now."

There's really no fucking way to argue with that, much as Sam would like to.

**/**

Two days later, Sam finds Castiel sitting by Dean's bedside when he and Bobby return from the cafeteria. Sam's first instinct is to barge his way though the door, find out what exactly is going on, what the fuck Castiel might be saying that could possibly be - upsetting to Dean in some way - but Bobby manages to reign him in. "Leave them be," he says, catching hold of Sam's arm. "What do you think is going to happen, exactly, if Dean's alone with Cas?"

"I just don't want him upsetting Dean," Sam says. "He could say anything to him and in the shape he's in -"

"I'm pretty sure Dean can handle himself," Bobby says. "I'm guessing he _wants _Castiel in there. And you're the one who looks upset."

"I'm fine," Sam mutters. He's not, not really, but what can he do, Bobby's right, if Dean wants to talk to Castiel alone, Sam can't very well stop it, shouldn't even want to given how much lies between Dean and Cas, what they've been through together, starting the moment Cas pulled Dean out of Hell.

"Let's go get some coffee," Bobby says.

"Bobby, we were just down there. If I drink anymore coffee I'm going to explode," Sam says. But they can't just stand in front of Dean's room and watch what's going on, so Sam settles for Bobby taking him down to the solarium at the end of the hall so they can sit and watch the entryway to Dean's door.

It takes much longer than Sam would've thought. He's just about to get up and take another pass by when Castiel emerges and immediately heads toward them, as if he knows they're there, waiting. Sam is up and out of his seat and in front of him before Cas is even halfway down the hall.

"He's asleep," Cas says, before Sam has to ask. "I didn't wear him out, if that's what you're worried about. We talked and then he became tired and I sat with him and waited until he fell asleep."

Asleep. Everyone, but Julia in particular, had warned him Dean would be sleeping a lot more, that he wouldn't be able to help it. Still. Dean. Dean who'd never needed more than a few hours of sleep all his life. Sam has to wait a couple seconds before he can make himself say anything. "It's fine," he gets out. He waits a moment before saying anything else. "So. What did you guys talk about?"

He can feel Bobby rolling his eyes next to him, even as he hears the small disapproving hiss escape his lips. "What did we talk about?" Castiel repeats.

"Yeah. Was it anything - important?"

"Perhaps you should ask Dean that."

"What, are you his lawyer now? I'm his brother, Cas, and this isn't some kind of confidentiality issue. I'm asking you."

Castiel hesitates long enough that Sam thinks he's not going to answer. "He had some questions," he finally says. "He wanted to ask me some things."

"About?"

"About what happens when he crosses over, and what awaits him on the other side, Sam."

"We've already seen that side of things," Sam says. His voice is so fucked up, the weight of what they're discussing so heavy it doesn't even sound like him. "What would he need to know?"

"It's not quite like what you experienced," Castiel says. "Not completely. What you and Dean saw when you were there was just a very small part of what Dean will - come upon when he returns."

Well, that kills the mood pretty fucking effectively. A wave of nausea washes through Sam at the implication of what he's just heard, and it must show on his face. "You okay?" Bobby asks.

"So, that's that. He's just given up, decided he wants to give up without a fight." It's not a question, but a flat statement of fact on Sam's part, tinged with more than a thread of bitterness.

Castiel steps up to him, and his eyes are steel - the Castiel who will protect and defend Dean at any cost, the Castiel Sam hasn't seen for quite awhile. "He was asking me about letting go, in case he has to," he says, his eyes never leaving Sam's face. "Not giving up. There's a difference."

_Since when, _Sam thinks, and finds that he can't say the words, not out loud. "I want to go sit with Dean," he finally says. "Even if he is asleep. I want to be there when he wakes up. Any objections to that?"

"I think that would be wise," Castiel says, and stands aside to let him through. "I think there are probably things he'll have to say to you at some point, and you should be there to hear them."

Sam doesn't answer, just grits his teeth and heads into Dean's room. There's nothing untrue about anything Castiel has just said, especially the part about Dean having things to say to him, but Sam still isn't ready for that.

Really, he's pretty sure he'll never be ready for that.

For any of this.

**/**

Things are beginning to come to an end, and Sam doesn't want to face it, yet even without admitting it, knows he has no choice.

He sleepwalks from one hour to the next, not because he's tired - far from it. Despite the little sleep he gets, Sam rarely feels tired - rarely feels anything other than trying to get Dean from one moment to the next.

He lives in Dean's hospital room.

No one tries to stop him - Julia has told everyone, made it clear that this is how it is, that Sam is allowed to be with Dean around the clock, if that's what he wants. And for all practical purposes, Sam is; he sleeps on a cot by the window, he showers in Dean's bathroom, he eats the trays of food that are sent up. Bobby and Castiel come for part of the day and sit with them, though not usually at the same time. Julia is there as much as she can be - there's little she can do for Dean, other than make him comfortable.

Sometimes Sam watches television; sometimes he just sits and watches Dean sleep, commits the color of Dean's hair or the lines in his face to memory, listens to the sound of his breathing when it's slow and measured. _Don't let me forget this, _he tells himself. _If I never remember another thing, let me always remember how Dean looks, how at least he seems to be at peace right now._

Dean, of course, sleeps.

Not every minute - but a good part of the time he's out. When he's awake he's always aware, always knows what's going on, and for that Sam is grateful, that Dean's mind is still present even if his body is fucking him over. It's good because it allows him to talk to Bobby, talk to Cas when the opportunity arises.

More than once, Sam has gone down the hall to the public restroom and locked himself into one of the stalls and wept into his hand at the unfairness of it all - that Dean is dying like this after he's been through so much - hell and back, literally - and all but promised a reward for the services he's rendered.

It's not unlike how he felt when Dean _did _go to Hell - the desperation, the complete and utter helplessness and the absolute certainty that it was his fault.

_Fuck it, I can't go through that again._

_What do you mean, 'go through it again?' You didn't really 'go through' it before._

The demon blood.

God. No fucking wonder it'd been so easy to fall into all that. Anything to relieve the pain. And if Sam had thought the pain of losing Dean that time had been big - well, he was fucking kidding himself.

_But now, there's no demon blood to fall back on, is there?_

Of course, Sam would never go down that road again, even if he could. He just wouldn't. And it's not like he can anyway, there's no demon blood or demons or even any - physical component on his part for that anymore. That's all gone, washed away, "never to be remembered," so to speak.

But Sam _does_ remember.

And while there might not be demon blood at his disposal, that doesn't mean there aren't other - options - to remove his pain, help him cope.

There's a relief in knowing that, wrong as it is, that there might be measures to ease his own pain if the loss of Dean is too great for him.

**/**

"Dean thinks you might try something stupid when he's gone." Bobby sees the look on Sam's face, the angry glare and amends himself a little. "I mean _if_ something were to happen -" Unable to fix it, Bobby just lets the thought fall away between them.

What the fuck? "I'll probably do a lot of stupid things, Bobby," Sam says, and smiles thinly. He's trying to be light but really, what's the point? "And I don't care what everyone says, he still might get out of this. It isn't over yet."

"Don't try to change the subject," Bobby says. "Are you?"

"Am I what?" Stalling is all Sam's doing right now, he knows exactly what Bobby - and by extension, Dean - is referencing.

"Going to do something stupid?"

"Define stupid."

Bobby rolls his eyes. "Like, 'demon-blood stupid.' That enough of a definition for you?"

Goddamn Dean, he knows me too damn well, Sam thinks. "That's not an option," Sam says, evading the question. Or, thinks that's what he's doing. "You know that's all - closed to me now. So, no. No demon-blood."

"Don't try and con me," Bobby says. "I might not know you as well as Dean does, but I think I know you pretty well. There are other things that are available to you. Regular old things that you could easily fall into. Things to deaden your pain."

"Like Dean does with the drinking?"

Bobby looks at him for a moment and Sam knows he's trying to gauge if Sam is still trying to distract him with some smart ass comment, push him off track. But Sam isn't, and maybe he shouldn't have said that, not now, not when Dean is _fucking dying of multiple organ failure in the next room over, _but it's as if Sam can't help it, can't keep his own hurt from jumping out and clawing its way over to someone else. "I guess that would be an example," Bobby says, when he sees that Sam isn't trying to go for the jugular even though he's landed close enough. "And it's not so far-fetched, given your own - predisposition to having an addictive personality."

Well, fucking touche. If Sam's going to play in that particular sandbox, he can't exactly expect Bobby to not join in. "I'm not going to do anything stupid," Sam says. Actually, he doesn't know if he is or not. He doesn't think he will. It's not as if he'll be able to get involved with a demon and suck blood from it like he did with Ruby.

Still. He knows there are other things, just as Bobby inferred. Other drugs, other ways of deadening pain. Drinking. Taking drugs.

Or, in Sam's case, _not _taking the drugs. The anti-rejection drugs. Who the fuck would know? Would care? What the fuck would the difference be? All Sam would need to do is what he did when Dean went to Hell only play it like he means it - quit taking all his meds and not look back and eventually - hopefully - end up in some slow, painless process that would put him in the same position Dean is in right this very second.

Sam's thought about it. Not for very long, Not even very seriously.

But he's thought about it.

"Let me just say this," Bobby says, drawing closer. Sam looks away, but Bobby won't allow it. "Hey." He rests his hand against Sam's jaw line, the pressure of his touch forcing Sam to make eye contact with him. He waits until Sam has no choice but to look right at him. "You do anything stupid - and I think you know what I mean when I say, 'stupid' - you'll dishonor everything Dean has ever done here. Everything. He gave you life, Sam. Starting when you were fourteen and every day since then. You hurt yourself - your hurt the memory of him and everything he's done, everything he stands for. And not just for you, but for every person he's ever saved." He pats Sam's cheek. "And I know you'd never even think about doing that. Not now."

No, Sam thinks. Not now. I won't do it now.

But at this moment, it's the hardest thought in the world for him.

**/**

For once, Dean's having a good afternoon, has been breathing okay, been able to stay awake and talk with Sam for over two hours.

"Sammy, remember the night I went to Hell?"

_May 2, 2008. Up until now, the worst day of my life. _

Christ, this is the topic of conversation Dean's choosing to have?

"No, Dean, don't remember it at all," Sam says, shaking his head a little. "And if you don't mind, I'd rather not take a stroll down that particular memory lane if I don't have to."

"Do you remember what I said to you? Right before the hellhound came?"

"Jesus. Did you even hear a word I just said?"

"Yeah, I heard you. Now answer my question."

Sam shakes his head. "Yes, Dean, I remember. You told me to keep fighting, take care of the car, remember what Dad taught me, remember what you taught me." The memory of that terrible night combined with Dean's last words that night sober him up, make it hard for him to say anything for a moment. "Why?" he finally asks.

"Because I've been thinking," Dean says. His voice is tired and low, like he's about to fall asleep before he finishes his thought, but it's clear that he's got something going on in his head, that this is possibly one of the more lucid periods he's had in a few days. "When I was saying goodbye that time, telling you to keep fighting and remember what Dad and I taught you - you know I was talking about the hunting, right?"

Sam frowns a little. "Yeah, I got that." He's not really sure what Dean's trying to say to him.

"But we're out of that now."

"We are," Sam agrees.

"But is that all I ever showed you? The hunting? Is that all I've been able to - teach you?" He shifts around a little, and Sam knows he's getting uncomfortable because he's not able to breathe well. " 'Cause if it is, it doesn't seem like it's going to be enough."

_Is he fucking kidding? _Sam thinks in wonder. _He doesn't really believe that, does he? That everything we've ever shared, anything he's ever taught me is only related to demon hunting and fighting monsters? Fuck, Dean, you taught me what sacrifice is. What trust is. What family means and how love can exist even when the very people you care about the most disappoint you. You taught me what never giving up means, how to keep going when it would just be easier to say, 'fuck it, I don't care anymore.' You showed me what it means to be strong - the real meaning. You're the fucking definition of selflessness and morality and righteousness - fuck, even God Himself knew that - and those were lessons you started teaching me since I was little and you've never wavered from any of those things even though you've had to - are still going through - so much yourself. _

He leans forward, aches to grab Dean's hand - or at the very least just touch him - but he's promised himself he won't, won't let Dean think he's given up and just resigned himself to everything.

Dean's eyes are closed and his breathing ragged, and Sam needs to get someone in here to give him another shot even though Dean won't like it, so he's not even sure that Dean's aware enough to hear him at the moment.

He says it anyway. "Everything. Dean, you taught me _everything._"

Dean's eyes flicker open and he smiles a little. A smirk almost. "Good," he whispers, and then his breathing gets all fucked up again, labored and gasping and Sam goes out to find Julia.

It's the last real conversation they have.

**/**

It comes down to the end.

Everyone seems ready for it.

Everyone except Sam.

**/**

Dean is barely awake, only comes to every now and again for just the shortest amount of time. He doesn't say much, nothing other than their names or other insignificant things, but he recognizes all of them, holds everyone's gaze with his own which, truthfully, says more than anything else.

He doesn't look to be in any pain or distress and both Bobby and Castiel say he seems to be at peace.

Sam thinks they're probably right, but to admit it means he's giving Dean permission to die, and Sam can't bring himself to do it, even now, when he knows Dean is but a few hours away - at most - from the end.

He goes into the public bathroom down the hall at one point, during hour number whatever-the-fuck-it-is of this godawful vigil, is splashing cold water on his face when Castiel appears at the sink next to him. "You've been gone a long time."

"Sorry, I didn't know I was being timed." He grabs some paper towels, presses them to his face.

Nothing feels real.

"You're not," Castiel says. "We just wanted to make sure you were all right."

That might just be the biggest fucking understatement of the year.

"All right?" Sam barks. "Of course I'm all right. Look at me. I'm healthy as a fucking horse. I'll probably live until I'm eighty. Meanwhile, my brother - who survived Hell and everything in between - including the motherfucking Apocalypse - is down the hall dying of something I should've died from fifteen years ago. Yeah, I'm right as fucking rain, Cas."

Castiel stays silent, just watches.

Waits.

"Tell me something," Sam finally says. "You've seen how things like this work. You've even had conversations with Dean about it. Or, at least I assume you have. But tell me - why him? Why him first?"

"Because," Castiel says simply. "It'll be easier for you to go on alone than it would be for Dean. If this were happening to you, Dean would never get over it."

" '_How could you make that deal, Dean?_

_Cause I couldn't live with you dead. Couldn't do it._

_So, what, now I live and you die?_

_That's the general idea, yeah.' "_

"He said something like that to me once," Sam somehow chokes out, not even sure why he's letting Castiel in on it. "Right after he made his deal and I was trying to think of ways to get him out of it."But why now? It doesn't seem right, that this should happen when he's finally free and able to start a normal life. Why not when he's old and been given the chance to live the life he deserves to live?"

"Why shouldn't you be given that same chance, Sam?"

"Why shouldn't both of us?" Sam fires back. Goddamn, but he's pissed. At Castiel, at God, at Dean. At himself.

At all of it.

"Perhaps only one of you was meant to go down this path when everything was settled after the Apocalypse. And maybe this is the only way for that to take place."

"And who the fuck gets to make that decision, Cas?" He feels like he could rip Castiel to shreds right now with just his bare hands even though he knows - of course he knows - that this isn't Cas' doing, that he's just doing his best to give the answers Sam is seeking.

"How much of your time with God do you remember, Sam?"

He means Detroit, of course, but it's a question completely out of left field - and anything to do with God is irrelevant as far as Sam is concerned.

"Not much," Sam says. His teeth are gritted, his fist clenched at his sides. "Everything is pretty much a blank except for what you've filled me in on."

Castiel moves closer, so he's all but standing on top of Sam, practically pushing him into the sink. "But you do remember what I told you? About how your words and Dean's words to God's questions were the reason the Apocalypse was averted?"

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"The words you said - whatever they were - and the words Dean said - again, whatever they might've been - were the two things that kept the end of the world from happening."

"Yeah, I get that. You told us that at Bobby's. I still don't get what your point is."

"What I'm saying is, what is happening now - to Dean - might just be the outcome of that. What went on between Dean and God that day. What went on between you and God that day."

_So Dean can be freed from this. I want Dean to finally have some peace. _The words come back to Sam just as this moment, words he's never even thought of until now, words that he knows have significance even as he knows he won't be able to recall the exact circumstance in which they were said.

"What are you saying?" Sam asks. His voice is barely above a whisper. "That Dean exchanged his own life so the Apocalypse wouldn't take place?"

"I don't know what Dean said, or what answers he gave or any of that," Castiel says. He's still standing right up against Sam so Sam has no choice but to confront everything Cas has to say. "Just as I don't know what went on between you and God. And I know neither you nor Dean are at liberty to say anything about it. But it's something you should consider. That this is part of God's plan. That this is something that is being borne out of what happened in Detroit, something between you and God and Dean. That it's a small part of a big picture. That's all I'm trying to say."

The room is bathed in silence.

"You've heard the saying, "reaping what you sow?" Castiel asks, out of nowhere, shattering the quiet. But Sam can't answer, doesn't trust himself not to become a blubbering mess here on the bathroom floor and he needs to get back to Dean, like, five minutes ago. But he does manage to nod his head in some kind of acknowledgment. "It's time for him to reap what he's sown, Sam. **'**And each one will receive his own reward according to his own labor.'"

Jesus, another damn Bible verse. But maybe - just maybe - Sam can buy into this one a little. The things Dean has sown are - priceless. Worthy beyond any kind of measure. No one gets that better than Sam, the good things Dean should reap based on the things he has sown in his time on earth.

If anyone deserves a reward for his labor, it's Dean.

**/**

Nightfall.

Sam is standing in the hallway at the glass window that looks into Dean's room, watching Castiel and Bobby. Neither one is at Dean's bedside - Sam knows they've already been, have gone ahead and said what they've needed to say.

Now, they're just waiting for him.

Sam tentatively steps into the room, but finds he can barely get his feet to move forward. Dean looks like he's asleep - and he is, they've got him doped up on something so he's not anxious as it becomes harder for him to breathe - but even though he seems okay, not in any kind of distress, Sam can hear that his breathing _is _different. Imperceptible for awhile and then loud and rapid, something that Julia had said would happen when the end was near.

_God. Fucking God._

Julia comes up behind him, her hand on his shoulder, which he doesn't feel until she squeezes it.

"How - how much longer?" he manages.

"Not long," she says, her voice a hush. "Go ahead, get as close to him as you want to him. I've had people climb into the beds before."

Sam realizes he's afraid, won't be able to do this. He's seen so much death in his life - more than anyone, really - and he's even seen Dean dead before but that had been different, that had been after Dean was already gone - and it had been horrible and the worst thing Sam had ever confronted but as awful as that had been - being with Dean once he was gone - he can't picture being with Dean as he's crossing over, as he's taking his last breath, can't imagine how he can possibly be a part of that and get through it.

Julia gets it. She grabs the chair and pushes it right up to the bed, guides Sam into it before he even knows that she's doing it and takes his hand and places it near Dean's, resting on the damn Indian blanket. "You can do this," she whispers. "I'll be right outside."

Sam's barely aware of anything. He knows Bobby is still over by the window, looking out at the sleet slathering down the glass in frozen streaks, and he can see Castiel out of the corner of his eye, perched in the doorway, rooted there for hours.

He breaks the moment he touches Dean's hand. _This is really it, there's not going to be any deal, any second chance, any going back._

_I'm not ready to let him go -_

_But _Dean's _ready._

He lays his head on Dean's chest. He doesn't know what else he can do, what else to say.

_You don't have to say anything. Just be with him. That's all he wants, all he's ever wanted._

And then he feels Dean's hands touch his hair.

" 'S'okay, Sam," Dean whispers, and even though his voice is weak, the words are clear and strong, and Sam stops crying if only to drink in the sound of it, so as not to miss this last gift, this moment of Dean talking. His fingers are still lightly threading through Sam's hair, though just barely. "It'll be all right. You'll be all right. Promise."

It's not lost on Sam that this is the same promise Dean first made to him twenty some years ago, back in Nebraska on Christmas, the same promise Dean has made - and kept - Sam's entire life. Without reservation. Without fail.

He's crying hard enough so that he can barely say anything, can only get out, "Dean," and he isn't sure if Dean even hears him, but Dean must feel some kind of - release - because those are the last words Dean says, and Sam is never sure when Dean takes his last breath, is only aware that his face is resting against Dean's chest, the sound of his heartbeat fading beneath him as Dean's hand gradually slows - and then stops - its gentle fingering through Sam's hair.

It's just past midnight, December second, 2010 when Dean Winchester, thirty-one years old, draws his final breath. He is a hero in every sense of the word, but he doesn't die a hero's death, and he isn't given a hero's send-off. There's no media blitz, no world-wide alert or announcement no mass gathering of people to mark his passing in any way, shape or form.

There's no fanfare of any kind.

The only people with him are the man who became like a father to him, the one who held him tight while raising him from the depths of Hell, and the person who meant everything to him. The three people he loved and cared about the most, who'd been with Dean during the most important times in his life, are with him now.

And deep within, Sam knows Dean wouldn't have wanted it any other way.


	9. Chapter 9

They bury Dean in Greenville, Illinois next to Mary's grave, after some initial debate on the subject. Sam wanted him to have a hunter's funeral and Bobby had tried to be the voice of reason, pointed out how they couldn't very well run off with Dean's body and then go torch it somewhere, not when he's been in a hospital and too many people have witnessed his death. There'd be too many questions, Bobby explained. Too many things to try and - cover up. Sam really hadn't cared, would've just as soon taken his punishment for taking his dead brother's body and laying it to rest on a funeral pyre somewhere far away from here and dealt with all the crap later, but it was Castiel who'd talked to him, had him see a sliver of reason. "He'll be the one left here to cope with everyone's questions," Cas had said quietly, referring to Bobby. "I know he can handle himself but do you really want to put that on him right now? Given how much he's had to take on these past couple of years?" And then, quieter: "Let him rest by your mother."

Of course, Mary's remains aren't even there, it's just a grave with an empty casket and a headstone but Sam gives in, allows the arrangements to be made to bring Dean's body back to Illinois. He tells himself he's doing it for the very reason Castiel gave - he doesn't want to force Bobby into having to deal with any aftermath that would come if Sam steals away with Dean's body and cremates it on his own, and then just takes off - but in truth, Sam gives in because he really doesn't give a shit. Really, what does it matter in the end? Dean is gone, and it's for good this time. No crossroads deal, no magic ritual, no exchanging one soul for another. Pure and simple, Dean isn't coming back and it doesn't fucking matter whether he's buried in the dirt or immolated on some funeral pyre.

_It doesn't fucking matter._ That seems to be how Sam is making his decisions, now that Dean is dead.

Dean is buried on a Monday. There was only going to be a graveside service and Sam hadn't put any sort of notice out anywhere about Dean's death, yet there are others present beside him and Bobby - and Cas, if one counts lurking about the fringes being present. Missouri Mosley is there, which doesn't really surprise Sam once he gets over the shock of seeing her, but it does make him skittish to be around her, especially when she pulls him in for a hug. _No, no, please don't tell me anything about where Dean is or what he's - feeling. Nothing. I can't. _And whether it's this silent plea she hears when she holds him or she really doesn't sense anything, Sam doesn't know but she doesn't mention Dean other than to say she's sorry.

Lisa and Ben Braeden come from Indiana - Dean must've asked Bobby to call them, Sam has time to briefly think. He knows he hasn't, he hasn't called anyone. But he's glad they're there, knows that Dean would have wanted them there given the - different - things they've been through, especially at the end.

But as much as Sam's glad she's there, he has more than a difficult time looking at her, much less saying anything to her.

He knows - though Dean never came right out and said it - but he knows that Dean was thinking about going back to Cicero at some point and trying to build something - really give it a go - now that everything had come to an end. Maybe try and make a family with Lisa and her son. Attempt to get the happy ending he'd always longed for and thought he could never get.

_He was right,_ Sam thinks bitterly.

Cassie Robinson - though she's not "Robinson" anymore, she's with some guy she introduces as her husband - is also there, and she's a little bit easier to be with. She still works for the newspaper in Cape Girardeau, which is where she somehow stumbled across some obituary or news item or something about Dean, Sam really can't figure out the details of it despite the fact that he's listening closely to what she's saying - or, at least he thinks he is. "I almost didn't believe it," she tells Sam. She's still holding him by the arms even after they're done hugging, as if she's afraid he'll get away. "I still really don't. Not Dean."

_Not Dean, not Dean. _Really, hasn't that been Sam's mantra this entire time, since the moment they'd found out Dean's lone kidney was failing? Even now, with the casket ready to be lowered into the open grave - and goddamn, how many graves like this very one had the two of them dug up together the past six years or so - Sam is still right there with Cassie, still not past the _not Dean, not Dean _of it all, even though he's about to watch his brother's body be lowered into the ground and say goodbye to him forever.

_Not Dean, not Dean, not Dean. . ._

It's not even a real graveside service. There's no minister, just the funeral director who's come out to kind of guide things along in this clearly unorthodox funeral. They end up awkwardly gathering around the casket - Missouri, Lisa and Ben, Cassie, her husband - David? - Bobby and Castiel sort of hovering behind all of them.

And Sam.

He'd requested - and been granted - that the casket be open at the cemetery, even though he and Bobby had had to jump through a few hoops to get the funeral home to allow it. But there'd been no funeral or memorial anywhere beforehand and for all practical purposes this was the actual service, and it wasn't as if they were asking for anything illegal, so the circumstances had been allowed, and the casket remained open as they stood there.

Sam doesn't know what it is, exactly, but he needs to see Dean this way, up until the very last possible moment.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you wish," the funeral director intones. "Pay your respects, say goodbye. Would anyone like to say a few words now?"

Everyone is silent, heads bowed, and Sam is just beginning to think that maybe this is all right, no one speaking, everyone just here with Dean and their thoughts when Missouri goes first. "Be at peace, baby," she says. "You deserve it."

Sam thinks he liked it better when no one said anything.

Cassie goes next, hesitantly. "Thank you, Dean," she says, quietly, almost soft enough so that Sam doesn't even hear her. "For everything," and Sam's heart stops a little as he thinks about what might've been if Dean would've stayed with her, and then she's slipping back into her husband's waiting arms, and she leans her head against his shoulder as he holds her and suddenly Sam sees Lisa move as though she's about to say something, and up until now everything has been going smoothly enough, but if she says something about Ben being Dean's son Sam knows he'll never be able to handle that, at least not right now and maybe not ever. But she remains quiet, doesn't say a word and Sam thinks - fucking _hopes _- they're done, because he knows he won't say anything and he isn't sure that either Bobby or Cas will either.

But he's wrong.

"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men," Castiel says. "Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the Valley of Darkness; for he is truly his brother's keeper, and the finder of lost children."

He's quoting what Sam thinks is some Bible verse, and damn him to fucking Hell, Sam thinks, not because it's the wrong thing to say but the words all but do Sam in and it's all he can do to keep himself from going to his knees and breaking down right here in front of Dean's casket.

_Fucking Cas._

Only Bobby saves him, pulls him back enough so that he can bring himself to the present. "He was family," he says gruffly, his eyes hard and dry. "He was the best damn son and brother anyone could ever have."

After that, it's silent.

There really isn't anything else to say.

**/**

They leave Sam alone at the gravesite, alone with Dean. They don't want to - he can see that Bobby in particular doesn't want to - but Sam promises not to be long, and he _is_ holding his shit together pretty well, considering, so they have no reason to fight him on it, and they reluctantly head over to the funeral home to wait for him. "You you won't do anything stupid, right?" Bobby asks him, just as he's leaving. "You're just going to say goodbye, I take it?"

"That's it," Sam agrees. "Just goodbye. Nothing else."

"You sure you don't want me to wait? I can go and wait by the car so you can have privacy."

"You go on," Sam says. "No sense in you just waiting out here in the cold when you can be waiting inside."

"All right," Bobby says. "I'll leave you be but you can be sure that I'm going to call you in awhile if I don't hear from you."

"I won't be long," Sam promises again. And as Bobby is turning away, he needs to ask one more thing. He'd thought he could get by without doing it but Sam can tell he's not going to be able to pull it off. "Hey, Bobby. Do you think you could drive - Dean's car back and maybe ask Missouri or Lisa if I could drive one of their's back?"

He hasn't been alone in the Impala since - everything - and he doesn't think that five minutes after he tells Dean goodbye forever is the best time to climb back in that particular saddle.

It takes him a second, and then Bobby's eyes soften in understanding. "Sure, kid," and then he goes and makes the arrangements, brings back Missouri's keys to her car. "Call me if you need anything," he says, and then he leaves and it's just Sam alone with Dean.

One last time.

**/**

The funeral director is lurking about somewhere, is discreetly waiting for Sam to finish up before he and the grave workers close the casket, lower it into the ground.

And now that he's finally alone with Dean, finally has the chance to do or say anything he wants - anything at all - Sam suddenly finds himself frozen. Unsure, and not exactly certain why. It's not as if he's never seen death and dead people before, though this isn't just any dead person, of course, this is Dean.

_Not Dean not Dean not Dean -_

He hasn't seen or touched Dean since the night in the hospital, and he's surprised to feel how much his hands are shaking - enough so that he shoves them into the pockets of his jacket for a minute to try and stop it, or at least get it under some control.

His right hand lands on the amulet.

Dean's amulet.

They'd given it to him at the hospital and he'd absently shoved it into his jacket pocket. It was the only possession Dean had with him when he'd first been admitted - that and his wallet - which Sam had grabbed during the frantic rush of trying to stabilize Dean in the emergency room -and his watch, which somehow Bobby had ended up with. And while Sam hasn't completely forgotten about the amulet, he hasn't given it any real thought until this moment. It was, after all, Dean's amulet and now, just as he discovers it, Sam doesn't know whether to be glad he has it - this one piece of Dean that had meant so much to him, that had ended up having so much meaning for both of them, especially at the end - or unnerved that he has something so valuable, so precious to his brother.

Sam slowly pulls it out and looks at it - or tries to, but it doubles and then triples in front of him until it's nothing but a blur.

The Christmas he first gave it to Dean in Nebraska, when they were kids and how Dean had slipped it on right away, the happiness and sincere gratitude on his face, in his voice.

It had been the one of the first things he'd done when Dean had returned from Hell - given it back to him and - the look on Dean's face at the realization that Sam had not just kept it for him but had actually worn it. "Like you were waiting on me to come back or something," Dean had told him gruffly one night a couple months later, after some brutal hunt and more than a few shots afterward. "Just like in the hospital in South Dakota."

"Yeah," Sam had answered, the liquor loosening his tongue enough to say things he might not otherwise say. "I couldn't get you out - out of there - but I always felt if there was a way you'd somehow - get back. Somehow, someway you'd get - home."

Because he knew just how strong Dean was, how important his life was, how it couldn't just end for him that way.

The day Dean had turned it over to Castiel to "find God," his reluctance to even entertain parting with it, his command that Cas not lose it more telling than any other explanation he could give as to why he didn't want to give it up.

The day Castiel returned it to Dean after they'd returned from "Heaven," claimed it was "worthless" and Dean agreeing with him and _throwing it into the garbage without hesitation. _When things between him and Sam had been at their worst, when it appeared the damage between them was irreparable. It had been an eye-opening moment for Sam, to see how hurt Dean was by - everything - but mainly by Sam's "heaven," and what it did and didn't include.

Of course, Zachariah had been fucking with them, Dean in particular and on some level Dean had known it. But still. It wasn't as if there wasn't precedence. Sam taking Dean's gift - his fucking kidney - and then turning and running off the first chance he got. Which wasn't even the worst of all of it - not even close. The whole letting Dean go to Hell for him, and that whole goddamn mess with Ruby and the demon blood. And then allowing his resentment - and really, Sam thinks, what the fuck did he have to be resentful of Dean for? - allowing Sam to pretty much start the end if the fucking world? If anything, it should've been Dean pissed about everything he'd ever done for Sam, everything he'd ever given up being tossed aside, but it wasn't that, it was never about that for Dean, it was always about whatever he could give to Sam, freely and unconditionally and honorably, and purely - while for Sam it was never about anything _but_ allow his resentments to turn him into some kind of - monster - despite Sam's efforts to resist it.

And yet, Dean had always stuck by him, made excuses - loved him and stayed with him even when the excuses were too thin to hold up any longer.

The day Sam had returned the amulet to Dean had been just like any other day. They'd still been early on in the aftermath of the Apocalypse, still in awe and wonder at everything. Before Dean was sick. It'd been a good day, Sam remembers, but nothing special, nothing spectacular. They'd been together and nothing extraordinary had taken place. Just the two of them enjoying one another's company, taking pleasure in those things that most people took for granted. Food and scenery and plans for the future and conversation when warranted and comfortable silence when it wasn't.

The perfect day to give the amulet back to Dean.

Sam hadn't planned it out - hadn't even been thinking about it when they were getting ready for sleep that particular night; they'd been somewhere in Tennessee and Sam remembers it had been warm, which was why he'd been folding his jacket and shoving it into his duffel; he'd felt the amulet through the fabric, and in an instant he knew it needed to be taken care of.

"Oh, hey," he said to Dean when Dean came out of the bathroom. "Heads up," and when Dean glanced over at him, Sam tossed the amulet over to him. "Thought you should have this back."

It's the only thing Sam ever said about it. They'd never talked about what had happened that day in Detroit, how Sam had pulled the amulet out and basically gotten the ball rolling on averting the Apocalypse by bringing God's presence down - Sam isn't even completely sure how much Dean remembers of that considering the shape he was in, and how it seems that both their memories of what took place there is very, very ethereal at best.

Dean had caught the amulet, a look of shock and - something else Sam couldn't place - on his face. He'd held it for a moment, looked at it like he was trying to decide something before slowly slipping it around his neck. "Thanks," he said, and his voice was strangely low and shaky. "I don't know what I was thinking, just throwing it away like that."

"You had your reasons," Sam had answered. "Just like I had mine for keeping it. So, it all worked out in the end." That's all that's said about it, by either of them, but after that things became even easier between them, another wall had somehow quietly come down and Dean never took it off after that, was still wearing it the night he died.

Sam blinks away some of the wetness in his eyes and gently leans over and peers at Dean's face. It's Dean but it's not - this looks like him - despite the grotesque pallor of the make-up and the traces of the sickness that linger, it still looks enough like Dean where Sam has no trouble believing this is him -

_Not Dean, not Dean, not Dean. . ._

But it isn't Dean because his spirit is gone, the life that was him is so - snuffed out that Dean is nowhere to be found. Sam closes his eyes and carefully kisses Dean's cold forehead, vaguely aware that the whimpering sound he hears is coming from himself. He quickly pulls away, and now he can't see again, the tears are crowding his eyes, but it's all right, he knows what he's doing, he doesn't really need to see for this. He quickly takes Dean's folded hands and brings them both to his lips, kisses them even as the whimper turns into a full-blown sob. He wraps the amulet within Dean's hands, kisses them again because he can't seem to help himself, these are Dean's fucking hands, cold and lifeless now but what they've done - how many people he's saved with these hands, including Sam, how the last thing he felt when Dean was alive was his hands - and then gently repositions them so the amulet is tucked beneath, safe. Briefly, Sam thinks that he should keep it, that Dean might even want him to have it - Sam had kept it with him when Dean had gone to Hell, after all.

Of course, that had been in a different time, a different place. Even then, as unlikely as it might've seemed, Sam had taken it and kept it - worn it - always with the belief that Dean would want it back when - not if - he returned.

This time, Sam has no such illusions about Dean coming back.

The idea of keeping Dean's amulet leaves Sam as quickly as it had come. It's Dean's. It belongs with Dean, it will always belong with Dean.

He's bawling now, unable to catch his breath and he doesn't give a fuck. If the earth opened up and swallowed him whole right now, if everything just stopped, came to some sort of end and this was the last moment Sam was alive, he would be fine with it. The ache within him is bottomless and unbearable, and while being here with Dean - like this - is killing him, he can't imagine not being here when the alternative - being out there _without Dean _- is unthinkable.

He has no idea how much time passes, other than to notice how the light has shifted when his sobs finally slow, the water actually wrung out from him so that he's weeping without tears. He's still holding Dean's hands and this - letting go of them - is what's going to be the hardest.

Yet somehow, Sam manages it, forces himself to back away from both Dean and the casket, and turns, blinded, and begins to stumble his way out of there, not really sure where he is or where he's going until, seemingly out of nowhere, he feels a grip on his arm, almost iron-like in its strength.

Castiel.

"You need to come with me," he says, and his voice is quiet but leaves no room for argument. It's the only thing he says, but he keeps his hand on Sam's arm and leads him away, and Sam suddenly realizes that all his efforts not to break down in front of Castiel have been tossed out the window, and really, who gives a shit anyway, that sort of macho crap is meaningless in the big picture.

Sam needs someone to guide him right now, and it might as well be Dean's angel.

**/**

**Epilogue**

These are some things Sam discovers about himself, and his grief:

It's making it hard for him to settle down in any one place.

Not because of the lifestyle he grew up with or the way he and Dean lived; but because every state he passes through, or even has occasion to reference, reminds him of hunting with Dean. They've pretty much been in every state in the union, multiple times.

He sees Dean everywhere.

It's fucked-up crazy - Sam knows this, knows that it's messed up that he can't put roots down in Minnesota just because he and Dean hunted so many different things there throughout their lives, even if it is one of Sam's favorite states and always has been. Same for Illinois or Pennsylvania or just about every other state they've ever set foot in. Just driving through some of them will constrict Sam's chest and throat so that he can hardly draw breath. To actually stop and live where Dean saved so many people is pretty much unthinkable. Yeah, fucked up but still - unthinkable.

And he can't stay in motels anymore. Which makes things a little difficult given how he's trying to travel the country and find a place for himself within it. Bed and breakfasts are okay, as long as they resemble a house more than a motel. He thinks cabins would be a pretty safe bet, though he hasn't tried one yet. YMCA's and homeless shelters are the best, but those are only available in big cities.

So for awhile, Sam basically ends up driving around the country looking for a place to land. Minnesota is out, as is Wisconsin, South Dakota, Texas, Arizona, Missouri, Indiana, Kansas, Ohio - and just about anything east or west of the Mississippi. He sleeps in the car - a pile-of-crap he bought with Bobby's help in Illinois - a lot of the time, pulled up at waysides or in huge Wal-Mart parking lots because he can't bring himself to stay in anything remotely resembling a motel. He eats most of his meals purchased in a drive-through once he discovers sitting in any kind of restaurant is yet another no-go.

He's never realized until now just how much he has Dean tied in with place in his life despite the fact that they never stayed in one for more than a few days at a time.

Sam knows this has to stop, he can't just keep driving the rust bucket he's driving all over the damn country, eating fast food and sleeping in the backseat until all his money runs out. It would be one thing if he was actually doing this right, was stopping in the various places and - doing normal things - but nothing he is doing right now is even vaguely normal and it's starting to wear on him.

_Just pick a fucking - place - and go there. Get a job. Rent an apartment. People lose loved ones all the time and do just that. _

_Loved ones. _So now Dean's been relegated in Sam's thinking to the generic, "loved one."

_Stop thinking so damn much._

Would it were that fucking easy, Sam thinks, more than once.

He ends up cautiously heading to Boston. He knows he and Dean have hunted there, not in the city proper but in the general vicinity. Yet for some reason he finds himself being drawn there, the East Coast version of Palo Alto maybe, the academia and the diversity and the history associated with it. He also feels like he might hate it, the bigness of all of it, the craziness, but he also finds the anonymity appealing, the lack of anything to remind him of Dean an oasis.

It's been just over a month since the funeral.

He needs a place to live and a job, and not necessarily in that order.

Finding a place to live is easy.

Finding a place to live cheap isn't.

Sam has some money from some government stipend, some death benefit Bobby ferreted out for him once both John and Dean were officially dead, something to do with John being a veteran and Sam being his only survivor. It isn't a lot of money and Sam hadn't even wanted to take it at first, given how he was getting it because his entire fucking family had died in order for him to secure it, but Bobby had pressed it on him and Sam had reluctantly agreed just to get him off his back about it.

But while it's not a whole lot of money, Sam's glad to have it now and while he didn't spend a whole lot the previous month what with basically living out of his car, he needs to have a legitimate place to crash, and he takes the money from the death benefit and rents himself a room in some converted boarding-type house in south Boston. It's small - just a living/sleeping room with a kitchenette and a shared bath - and not in the best shape, and it's not even remotely cheap, at least not by Sam's standards but there's a month-to-month lease and that might be the most important thing of all, being able to jump ship out of here if things get too - horrible and he needs to bail.

Because things are still horrible, for the most part, and bailing seems like it could remain a real option.

He's shocked by how few possessions he has even though he shouldn't be - he's never had much and definitely not since he left Stanford. But without either the weapons or the crap that's still in the Impala - John's journal and all of Dean's stuff - it's really glaringly apparent how little Sam has.

Not that it matters.

The most important thing he did have is something he can't replace.

/

Really, Sam isn't choosy and doesn't care what job he gets. He'll do just about anything for cash other than take his clothes off.

He looks at the classifieds in the paper and goes from there, but he has no damn idea where anything is located and out of desperation more than anything, ends up stumbling around his neighborhood for awhile, occasionally stopping in this restaurant or that storefront and putting an application in when a place is looking to hire. By sheer luck he ends up circling a hospital called Boston Medical Center and by even more coincidence, one of the jobs advertised in the paper is located right in the very building he stands in front of.

The sight of it brings him right back to Oklahoma. And Dean.

And where Dean ended up spending the last weeks of his life.

All of it.

He turns away without a second thought, fairly sure he isn't going to be able to tackle this just yet. _Oh, come on_, he argues with himself, when he realizes what he's doing. _What the hell are you going to do, never set foot in a hospital again because of what happened? You know you're going to have to at some point, especially if you end up going to med school, you fucking moron_.

The med school thing is a recent thing for Sam, something he hasn't really allowed himself much time to dwell on, given the newness and - craziness of the whole idea. It's not a _completely_ new idea, he'd actually been toying with it before Dean got sick, when they were driving around and kind of trying to think about what they wanted to do next -

_Have my brother next to me, alive, that's the biggest thing I want _-

But it _is _new in the sense that it would be a huge change for him, taking on a job that he'd never really considered before a few months ago. He has no doubt he could do it - all their "medical" knowledge they gained when he and Dean were hunting has sparked more than just a passing interest within Sam, and Dean's constant method and mantra of wanting to help others has probably had its influence on Sam as well.

_Pretty fucking hard to do all that if you can't even set foot inside a damn hospital, don't you think?_

He goes in thinking he's applying for some job in the cafeteria but ends up being interviewed for and subsequently offered a hospital orderly position in the ER. Sam's not quite sure how he gets from the one to the other, just knows that someone from the personnel department calls him the day after his second interview and tells him that the job's his if he wants it.

It's the first piece of good luck he's had in ages.

Though what he's doing here and why still remains a mystery to him. He was pretty much going to take the first job he could get, has no lofty notions that he's trying to do anything other than make the money to pay the rent and eat once in awhile. He's not even sure he can stay in Boston - his initial impression is okay, but he knows that could change in a heartbeat, something could happen, set him off and he could be out of there, gone as quick as he arrived. He doesn't want that to happen - he's tired of running, tired of trying to forget but he also knows how he feels.

But he misses Dean more than he ever thought possible.

He's not sure what's the main cause of the deep, bottomless grief that he carries every day - every minute, really - sometimes he thinks it's guilt and other times he wonders if it's anger that keeps him leveled - anger that everything happened the way it did from the moment Dean was born to the last breath he took, and yet there's other moments when he feels helpless about everything, that part of his grief is related to how futile everything seems to be.

Mostly, though, he traces his sadness to how much he just misses Dean. No more and no less.

The void he's left is unfillable.

He misses simple things, regular things he always took for granted. Dean leaving his shit all over. Dean's cheeseburgers and his pie and his beer and his whiskey. Dean annoyingly flipping through the tv remote at one in the morning, his sarcastic laugh at some late night Maury-like show echoing through the room when Sam was half-asleep. Things that, when Sam had them - they were nothing, and now that they're gone -

Are everything.

Mostly, he misses Dean's voice.

He never realized until he doesn't have it, that his voice was probably the brightest and best part to Dean. The damn off-key singing to that fucking shit music. The way he was always saying, "Sam," whether he was mad or serious or happy. Even the few times Dean would laugh. But really, it's all of it - Dean just talking, whether it was about a hunt or a tv show or the Apocalypse or how hungry he was or how pissed off Sam was making him -

Goddamn it, what Sam would give to have that back, that low, rumbling voice saying fucking _anything _to him, for just even one more minute. If he would've been thinking straight he would've made sure he took Dean's cell just to play his voice mail message, but Bobby has it - or, at least Sam assumes he has it because Bobby has all of Dean's other things.

Instead, there's a lot of silence. More than Sam has ever had to deal with. Something he once, in his stupidity and his selfishness, would've craved - or thought he craved - and which now Sam is pretty sure he'll never get used to.


	10. Chapter 10

His job ends up saving him.

Sam doesn't know this at first, but it does. Just having a place to go almost every day is huge, a welcome distraction in that it pushes thoughts of Dean into the background, at least some of the time.

But it's more than just that.

The work is physically hard at times, transporting patients from one part of the hospital to the other, but mentally, Sam finds the job - relaxing. No one knows him - as far as everyone is concerned, Sam's just some guy from Kansas, working his job so he can go back to school at some point.

He works first shift, as a "medical assistant," but really, all Sam is is a hospital go-fer for the most part, someone to do the grunt work like transport people around from one part of the hospital to the other, washing and sterilizing and setting up equipment, cleaning shit up that the housekeeping staff isn't allowed to handle, doing non-invasive patient care.

Sam likes it.

Sure, it's fairly monotonous in some ways - or it would be if Sam was used to having a job like this. What he's used to is slinking into hospitals with fake credentials, lying his way around to get information and trying to get his hands on bodies that had gone through a suspicious death and then taking the bodies apart to try and figure out what evil thing killed that person.

This? What he does now? Is a breath of fresh air compared to what he once did. He's okay with the people he works with - at least the little bit he's allowed himself to get to know them - he doesn't mind the work he does and he really likes the patients, the people that come in and need help.

He likes being able to talk to them without worrying if some demonic force is about to kill them. He likes talking to them about everyday things, regular routine subjects that have nothing to do with the supernatural. Families, jobs, hobbies. He likes that while some of their medical problems are serious enough, this is a place they can go to for help and in his very small way, Sam can help give it to them.

Once again, Sam gives serious thought about going to med school. He knows he could do it. He'd be a little older - okay, maybe a lot older - than most doctors are when they get their degree, but then again, what's the hurry?

Sam has all the time in the world.

Those are his good days - when he's busy at work and things go well and he engages with his co-workers or the patients in a pleasant way, makes someone feel better - and it's always that way, Sam making someone else feel better because it's still pretty much impossible for anyone to make him feel better about anything - and then goes home to his dumpy little place and is too tired to do anything but fall into bed and hopefully crash into enough sleep so that he's able to get up the next day and try and do everything all over again.

But for every decent day he has there are three bad days and Sam doesn't know how to turn that around.

He's heard that it takes a full year to get over the worst of the grief of losing a "loved one" - and God, how Sam hates that term - that all the milestones of every month have to be lived through before the sadness lessens.

Sam thinks that's bullshit.

He can't see himself feeling better about Dean being gone in fucking ten years much less one.

Fall seems to be hardest - and maybe that's because it was easier to be distracted in the warmer months, more things to do outdoors or that kind of thing. Maybe it's because fall is the last time Sam remembers Dean being healthy, how they were slowly making their way toward Arizona and Dean had been so happy. Maybe he knows that the holidays are coming and they're going to suck and Dean got sick near the end of October and died right before Christmas and it weighs on Sam more than he would've thought possible.

Bobby calls regularly, wants Sam to come out to South Dakota and join him and Castiel for Christmas. Sam hems and haws, puts him off - he got rid of the puke purple-pink car - doesn't think he can afford the airfare, isn't sure he can get the time off work. None of these things are untrue but Sam thinks - if he really wanted - that he could find a way to get around any of them and get to Bobby's for Christmas.

Truth is, Sam doesn't think he can do it.

Not yet.

It'll be too much and he can't manage it right now. Dean is still too near to him, and everything will be forced and weird, and Sam knows he won't be able to go to Bobby's, thinks Bobby even knows it.

Castiel doesn't call, not exactly, but he does keep in touch through a series of erratic voice mails, alternately asking how Sam is doing and if Sam is receiving any of Cas' messages. Sam dutifully returns the calls, ends up leaving his own series of voicemails and texts, but has no idea if Castiel is even receiving them**. Doing okay, Cas. Don't worry about me. I hear you might be heading to Bobby's for Christmas. Drink a glass of wine for me and let me know what Santa leaves in your stocking**. Some such shit - the fake Christmas cheer, even for Castiel.

But Sam can't help it. Fake is all he can manage at the moment.

**/**

It's been a long and shitty day at work for a number of reasons, a day where Sam almost thinks about quitting his job and finding a new one. People in bad moods, the weather a pile of crap. Some kind of situation where a pregnant woman bleeds out in the ER and dies before they could get her upstairs and then finding out the baby doesn't made it either. It casts a pall over everything - unnecessary and unforeseen death always does - especially in the department where Sam works, since they are the first people the lady is in contact with. Just a fucked up day overall, and Sam is more than happy to see it come to an end.

He's not in the least prepared mentally for walking home and hearing someone call his name.

Someone who sounds exactly like Dean.

He manages to ignore it because he's already so fucked up from the crappy day at work he thinks it has to be his mind playing tricks on him, that he's just having weird, half-baked thoughts about Dean.

"Hey, Sammy!"

Motherfucking Christ, but it sounds _exactly _like Dean calling him.

Of course, he knows it's not Dean before he turns to look, but there's no stopping the adrenalin surge that arrows through him at the sound of someone calling his name _in that voice_. Like, God - _what if?_ He sees two men - older men, heavy-set men, waving to one another across the street and heading toward each other, their voices still drifting over his way - which one is "Sammy" and which one called out the name, Sam doesn't know but then again, what does it fucking matter?

_Not Dean, not Dean, not Dean. . ._

And Sam's ramped up heart rate sickishly slows a little as he turns away, the back of his neck and his sides clammy, the rush of blood to his face making him dizzy. His head aches a little and he feels almost nauseous from the whole thing, from thinking Dean was calling his name when he knew full well he wasn't, the disappointment of it not miraculously being Dean quickly slapping him with yet some other reminder that Dean is gone and not ever going to call his name again.

His throat is tight, dry and he hurries along the street, fists clenching and unclenching in his jacket pockets, the urge to _do something _threatening to overwhelm him, the need to punch or kick or better yet, shove a knife into some demon or drain the life out of some monster with his hands or whatever weapon he can get a hold of - and never once, in all the years he hunted did Sam take that sort of pleasure, in hunting - at least not of his own volition, not without the influence of the damn demon blood - but right now he thinks it would be _awesome_ to feel that release, to get that anger and sadness and whatever else the fuck he's feeling out there.

Yet, just as quickly as it's come, the feeling curls out of him and tears prick the back of his eyes because, yet again, he's back to thoughts of hunting, and invariably, thoughts of hunting always - always - bring him back to Dean, and the ultimate truth he can't escape.

Sam gets to his building, keys himself in, all without making a sound. He feels as if he's barely breathing, that whatever thread has been holding him together is but one snap away.

He lets himself into his room, doesn't bother with the lights, doesn't bother with taking his jacket off, just sits on his unmade bed and looks out at the darkening Boston skyline.

_No matter where you go, how far you run, you'll never stop missing Dean._

He hides his face in his hands, hoping that covering his eyes will slow everything down but still the tears rain down his cheeks, spill through his fingers.

_You could be sitting alone in a tiny room, no furniture, no mementos, no pictures - nothing - and you would still be reminded of Dean. You'd still miss him. You'd still ache for him, his presence, his words, his thoughts, his life._

"I can't do this," he whispers, though he's not addressing anyone other than maybe himself. "I know I can't."

Those four words - _I can't do this - _open something up within him and he begins to weep uncontrollably, actually rocks back and forth as he cries. _I can't do this, Cas was wrong, this is way harder for me than it would've been for Dean. Dean was so much stronger. I need him here. There's no reason for me to be here if he's not around. There just isn't._

He cries for an eternity, doesn't care, doesn't think of trying to stop. He's alone, without any sort of anchor or plan or - desire - other than for the one thing that he's never going to have again.

_I can leave here. I can go anywhere. I don't have to stay in Boston, I don't have to take the job or got to school. If it's too much for me to be here, I can leave._

But really, they're just words - his usual fall-back, the running away when things get too painful.

_No matter where you go, how far you run, you'll never stop missing Dean._

Eventually, he finds himself lying on his side, the tears still oozing from his eyes, his entire body shuddering. The pain in his head is a full blown ache, and his eyes, for all practical purposes, are swollen shut. The room is dark; Sam hears the hiss and the clunk of the radiator as the heat kicks on and despite his headache and general misery the sound is soothing in a fucked up kind of way. He should get up, take some aspirin or at least drink some water but he can't move, can't even bother to pull his boots off, and his eyes are still leaking, his breath is _still_ hitching in his chest as he feels himself drifting off to sleep, like he's going to keep crying even when he's unconscious, but there's nothing Sam can do to stop it, nor is he even sure, at least right now, that he wants to try.

He sleeps through the night and when the alarm goes off the next morning he feels a little better. Not great - his head still throbs a little and his entire face feels tight from crying but he feels calmer at least.

It would be easy for him to feel the other way, out-of-control and desperate and ready to give up.

It's happened to him before.

"_You do anything stupid - and I think you know what I mean when I say, 'stupid' - you'll dishonor everything Dean has ever done here. You hurt yourself - your hurt the memory of him and everything he stands for." _

Sam gets up, takes his meds, gets ready for work. Puts one foot in front of the other.

It's all he can do.

**/**

"Hey, Sam, mind if I sit here?"

Sam looks up from the book he's looking over, but he already knows who the voice belongs to. "Uh, sure," he says uncertainly, closing the book but not before turning the page corner down to mark his place.

He's not really up for this, polite chit-chat in the cafeteria, not while he's trying to look at some stuff on his break and try to regain his equilibrium from all the crying the night before, but it's Randi, and she's kind of his superior and Sam's still new enough at the job where he doesn't feel he can be impolite just yet.

It's the first time someone he works with has actually tried to engage him outside of the requisite co-worker exchanges. He shoves the MCAT study guide and other assorted papers out of the way, picks up his Styrofoam coffee cup and takes a sip. Cold already but whatever.

She sits down, gets situated, gives him a tentative smile. "Sorry for just getting all up in your space like this," she tells him. "But I wanted to catch you before we got busy and I lost the chance." She glances over at his study guide. "It looks like you're busy studying."

"No, it's fine," Sam says. "Nothing that can't wait." Really, nothing he's looked at is sticking - his mind is still wound too tight for him to be able to concentrate.

He's been working here for awhile now, and they know next-to-nothing about him. The only information that he's given out is he's from Kansas and he went to Stanford. Of course, a few weeks isn't that long of a time, and he is a guy, but Sam thinks that some of them are probably curious about him, how he's just shown up out of nowhere and seems to have a knack for this job, knows a lot about anatomy and medicine in general, isn't rattled by the blood and is particularly easy with the patients he interacts with.

If he sticks around, he imagines that at some point he'll spill some stuff, but for right now, Sam's guard is still up. It can't be anything but, everything is still so close to the surface.

"I wouldn't call it studying," he says. He pulls his own plate toward him and pushes some of the food around on it. "Just kind of looking things up."

She raises her eyebrows a little as she glances at the MCAT study guide. "You thought you'd just look up how to study for the MCAT's?"

Because she's the one person Sam's had the most interaction with so far, he smiles at her. "Yeah, kind of. See if I really want to take the plunge into all of that again."

"Were you pre-med at some point?"

"Pre-law." The words are slipping out much easier than Sam would like, would've ever thought possible. And inexplicably, he lets them. "It would be quite a change."

"You don't strike me as the pre-law type."

"I'm not," Sam agrees. "Not anymore."

"Well, for what it's worth," Randi says, after she's taken a drink from her soda. "I think you'd make a great doctor. Not that I know you all that well, but just from the things I've seen from you so far. You seem to have a knack for picking up on the medical stuff even though that doesn't seem to be what you studied. Not to mention how the patients seem to like you." She pushes the pieces of paper she's been holding over toward him.

"From Personnel," she says. "Something about going in and getting a physical so they can update your anti-rejection meds. For the insurance purposes, make sure the pre-existence clause is met."

Oh, shit. But it's nothing - he doesn't need the insurance company or its approval, not really, all of his transplant-related stuff is automatically covered. "I must've forgotten to answer some of the questions when I got here."

"They need you to have another physical," she goes on, almost apologetically, as if she can sense his mood. "Get a separate exam from someone the insurance company chooses. Do you have a primary physician yet?"

He sighs, still feeling the effects of all the crying from the night before. It downright sucks. "God, Randi, this is such a bad time for this."

"I'm sorry," she says, and to her credit she _does _sound sorry. "I mean, I'm sure it can go a couple more days but they probably want you to get this dealt with." She waits, and when Sam doesn't say anything, she says quietly, "I didn't know you had a kidney transplant."

"When I was fourteen," Sam says. He can't believe he's saying it, but then again, what the hell difference does it make? It's not exactly a secret. "PKD. My brother gave me one of his kidneys."

He knows she must be wondering, have more questions. "I'm not surprised," she says. "Siblings are usually the best match."

She's not going to ask anymore, Sam can tell that she isn't despite her curiosity. Somehow, she understands about waiting and privacy and not pushing.

"He died a year ago come December." Sam hears himself say the words and they don't sound normal - but then again, it's the first time he's said them out loud to anyone, their first trial run. "My brother, I mean. Massive renal failure."

"Oh, Sam." Whatever she was expecting him to say, Sam can tell by her face this wasn't it. "How awful."

He knows he won't cry, not here, not at work and not in front of this nice person who he barely knows who's just trying to do her job, get him to fill out the right forms or whatever.

But it's a close thing.

And it doesn't mean he might not later, when he's back home, by himself.

"It's - okay," he says, and it is, but he keeps his eyes averted. "I just felt that you should maybe know - I mean, seeing as you've already seen my medical history and all."

"I'm glad you told me," she says. Her face still looks stricken for him but there's something else there as well, something that Sam can't name. "I mean, I won't say anything to anyone or anything. I'm just glad you told me for - yourself. That's a big thing to carry around alone."

"I'm all right," he says. He manages to look at her then, even though it's still shaky. "Sorry. It's been over six months. I _should_ be all right."

"Six months is nothing," Randi says, and her voice is quiet but knowing. "It's still very new and raw. And this was your brother. So don't apologize." She gathers up the papers, pats him on the shoulder. "Let me know if you need any help filling these out or if you run into any problems."

"Thanks," Sam says. And he means it - though not just for offering to help him out with the forms and whatever.

More for somehow making it okay to finally mention Dean out loud.

**/**

December second.

It's hard. No question. All day, Sam feels as if he's on the verge of tears, like if he thinks about December second last year even just a little bit he'll lose it.

Yet it's the only thing he can think about.

It's Friday and he has the day off since he's scheduled to work the weekend, and while Sam's grateful that he doesn't have to try and hold his shit together while he's at work, it makes for an exceptionally long day.

By nighttime, Sam's exhausted from holding himself together all day. He hasn't done all that much - slept in, went out and got breakfast, read the paper, done a little bit of studying, checked things online about Boston med schools. All done half-heartedly and in the hopes that he'd be distracted enough so he wouldn't really think about _this day _and how much he'd give to go back one fucking year and have it back, see if things could somehow - turn out differently.

It would just be so easy to climb into bed around five in the evening - the skies already darkening - and call it a night - he's tired, he's fucking depressed and he has to work the weekend, and he needs to do a little more studying for the MCAT at some point and he really, _really _needs to call Bobby and make sure he's okay.

So, yeah - Sam's mentally worn out. Ready to call it a day. A fucking shitty day, but a day nonetheless.

But Sam's also relieved, despite how worn he is. Relieved that he lived through this day and came out relatively - okay.

Without really any idea of what the hell he's doing, Sam goes over to the manila folder he has that he uses for his "important" papers - his MCAT information, copies of his employee benefits, his lease agreement, some stuff from his bank, a couple other things. Dean's death certificate, receipts for payment for "services rendered."

And a letter Cassie Robinson - _no, it's not Robinson anymore, _Sam reminds himself - gave him. It wasn't even really a letter - just a slip of paper that has her name, address, phone number and email hastily scrawled on it. She'd pressed it into his hands at the motel the day of the funeral, when she and her husband were leaving, after hugging him goodbye. "Dean has a story that deserves to be told," she told him softly. "He - you know that better than anyone. If you ever decide the time is right, I want to help you do that, Sam. I mean, he didn't even have a proper obituary and I think the world needs to know - how good of a person he was. I know you can't tell - everything about what he did, but when you're ready we can - tell people about Dean and the things he brought to this world. There's ways to do that and I can help you with that, okay?"

He'd still been delirious with his goodbye to Dean at the cemetery, and while he'd appreciated her kind words, the sentiment that eerily mimicked his own thoughts of how Dean's life should mean something, how the world needed to know what he'd done, how important it was, he couldn't even imagine being able to take that on at the time, and hadn't given it any real thought after that, just taken the paper and put it in the pants pocket of his suit.

Where he'd found it weeks later, while trying to decide if he should wear these pants to his job interviews or not. He'd held the pants up, trying to determine if they were wrinkled beyond hope and the paper had crinkled between his fingers. When he pulled it out, he immediately recalled Cassie's offer - or the gist of it, anyway - and while Sam still couldn't give it any attention at the time, he'd carefully put the paper aside, and then eventually stuck it in with his other important things.

Now, on December 2nd, one year later, he thinks he knows a way to make this day less - horrible - than it has to be.

**Hey, Cassie,**

**It's Sam Winchester. How are you? Don't know if you remember, but you gave me your email and told me to let you know when (if) I wanted to - talk about Dean/tell Dean's story in some sort of public way, that you'd have some ideas on how to help me do that. **

**Well, I guess I'm ready. Or, at least as ready as I'll ever be.**

**I really don't know how to start. I don't think I could sit down and just start writing about Dean and his life - I know I couldn't. So, any thoughts you have, I'm all ears.**

**Take your time getting back to me. I am sure you are busy.**

**I'm in Boston right now. I'm working at and am hoping to take the MCATS and go to med school. Hope all is well with you, give my best to your husband.**

**Sam**

He sends the email and doesn't really expect to hear from her for at least a little while, so when he checks his email before going to bed, he's more than a little surprised to see that she's answered.

**Dear Sam,**

**I am so, so happy you emailed me. I think about you and Dean so much, and today especially. Of course I remember what I said that day, and my offer still stands. I would love to help you tell Dean's story. **

**As far as what you should do - I would say don't even try to write anything yourself - not right now and not until you're ready. And you'll know when that time is, Sam. What you might want to do is email or call people that you and Dean have helped in the past and that you think might be willing, and just ask them to talk about Dean, what he did, what they remember. Sometimes, that's the best way to start something so - personal - hearing what others have to say.**

**After you've done that, let me know what you come up with and we'll go from there.**

**And take your time - it sounds as if you are the busy one, with your job and applying to med school - good luck with that, Sam, I think it would be good for you, and keep in touch. **

**The world is a lot darker today because he isn't here, isn't it?**

**Take care,**

**Love, Cassie**

For the first time since Dean's death, Sam feels the first twinges of something as he reads and then rereads Cassie's email. He thinks it might be happiness, but realizes later it's not that, not yet.

But it may just be some kind of - peace.

Or at the least, the beginnings of it.


	11. Chapter 11

Sam knows he has things to still take care of. He should go to Illinois and visit Dean's grave, make sure it's being tended to properly. And there's the matter of the Impala - it's sitting safely at Bobby's and while the weapons cache was long disposed of, Sam knows there are other things still in the car that he needs to go through - Dean's music and most of his clothes, John's journal and some of his other stuff.

Beside all that, it's been over a year now, and Sam thinks it's probably time to go and see Bobby, who Sam knows wants to see him - and if Sam's learned anything in the past few months it's that things can happen in the blink of an eye - something he would've thought he'd already learned considering the line of work they were in but something that had never really hit home until Dean was gone.

So, as much as he dreads it, Sam makes some plans around Easter weekend and after some hesitation, books a one-way airline ticket for the Thursday before. It's stupid, he thinks, because he's pretty sure he's not going to want to drive Dean's car back to Boston. It's impractical and he'd have to pretty much take off the day after he gets to South Dakota in order to get back to Boston in time to work on Monday, and he really doesn't think he'll want to do it anyway - just seeing the damn thing is going to be enough, much less climbing in and actually driving it.

Yet he can't quite close that particular door just yet.

At least, not until he gets there and sees how things go.

**/**

Good Friday.

Bobby's place is the same. Exactly. It feels good to Sam in some ways, to have it unchanged. Familiar. Comforting. The last time he'd been here had been with Dean, after the Apocalypse, when he and Dean were recovering. They'd both been hurt - critically so in Sam's case - and it'd been touch and go for awhile. The whole kidney thing for Sam. "Don't you dare fucking give up on me," he remembers Dean saying to him at one point, when he hadn't pissed for over a day and his fever had soared to a hundred and four. "You're not meant to go this way, Sam. Not now."

Sam doesn't remember much about those days when he'd first gotten there, how grave everything was, how close to dying he actually came, but he does remember these words.

Sam flies out Thursday and he only has until Sunday before he needs to be back. He isn't going to have a chance to stop in Illinois, visit Dean's grave. He's not even sure he's going to be able to bring the Impala back to Boston, or if he even wants to - not unless he starts driving on Saturday and goes straight through - something he's definitely done before, driven a long way without stopping, but he's not sure if he wants to leave Bobby's before then, isn't completely sure he wants to bring the car back with him.

But one thing is certain. Whether he brings it to Boston or not, Sam is going to have to - take care of it. Clean it out. Make some decisions about some things.

He figures Friday morning is as good a time as any.

It's March, so the weather isn't great, the ground still not thawed, but it's not the worst. Gray but dry, cool but no breeze. "I'm going to go and - see to Dean's car," is what he says to Bobby, and pulls on his jacket as soon as they've coffee. "Is it down by the garage?"

"You want any help with that?" The look on his face is unreadable, though Sam thinks he sees something twitch at the outer corner of Bobby's eye for just a second.

"Nah," Sam says. He knows he needs to do this alone. "I've got it."

"Well, you know where I'll be if you change your mind."

Sam is actually trembling a little as he walks down the sloping driveway and catches sight of the car, the car he hasn't been inside since the funeral. He has to talk himself down a little, remind himself that it's just a car, it's no big deal, nothing bad can happen if he looks inside Dean's car for Christ's sake.

It looks beautiful and awful all at the same time.

Beautiful because of what it stands for, what it means, who it represents.

Awful for the exact same reasons.

_Dean should be here, Dean should be here -_

Sam plunges right in, no preamble, just yanks open the driver's door, slides in and closes himself in.

Just as if they were about to go on a hunt.

The inside smells both different and familiar - damp and closed in from being outside and undriven, but beneath that is the very faint scent of the pine air freshener Dean always had hanging and the scent of the leather seats, that undeniable _car_ smell.

He puts his hands on the wheel, closes his eyes and just - thinks. Goddamn, the car. _This car. _How fucking much Dean loved it. Sam smiles, thinks about how pissed Dean was that Sam had put in an I-Pod jack when Dean had been in Hell. Really, Sam had had no business "douching her up," as Dean put it. Not when he'd put so much love and effort into her.

At this very spot, after John had died, where Dean began to rebuild her. Sam's smile fades. That had been hell, that time right after, how Dean refused to address anything - his grief, his past, his future. Anything. He'd never said anything to anyone, ever, but Sam still, to this day, thinks Dean never really got over it, all the baggage attached to their father going to Hell so Dean could live, leaving so many things unfinished, so many words unsaid between - well, the three of them, really.

But enough wandering down memory lane, Sam thinks. He has to get this done, sort through things, decide what he wants to do with the car, leave it here to sit or try and bring it to Boston.

He goes through the clothes in the back seat first - there are a few things of his and he retrieves those first. The rest are Dean's and he feels a pang at seeing them. He buries his face into one of Dean's shirts and it smells like Dean, and the rush of pain that snaps through him is immediate. He loosely folds it and sets it to the side but decides to get rid of everything else. They're Dean's clothes but Sam won't be able to wear them and beside, Dean wouldn't want him to keep them.

That's done.

Bobby has John's journal in the house - Sam hasn't looked at it yet, but Bobby told him he'd brought it inside, didn't think it would be a good idea to leave it out in the damp of the car. There are other things of course, pictures and notes and other things shoved between the pages that Sam knows he'll need to at least look at before he leaves, but for now - one thing at a time.

And, of course, Dean has John's brown leather coat, had been buried in it. To do anything else with it would've been unthinkable.

So, really, there's just the matter of Dean's music.

Probably the hardest thing Sam's going to have to sort through.

He can't imagine ever listening to it without Dean around.

But it's even harder for him to picture just pitching these tapes into the trash. Gone forever - no fucking way.

His hands are actually trembling when he leans down and begins fingering through the tapes on the floor between the seats.

The music's a touchy thing with Sam. Not just Dean's music, but all music. Some days he can listens to the radio and AC will come on, and - nothing. Sam will hear it and that will be that. Just a song by a group Dean loved, no more and no less. Other times, Sam might hear a song that has nothing to do with Dean, something like the other day when some oldies station at work played, "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother," - a song Dean would've never allowed to grace his airwaves - and Sam had to leave the room so he didn't burst into tears - and it can kill him for no apparent reason. Sam doesn't get that at all, why some fucking song that has nothing to do with Dean will bring him to tears for no good reason, but that's obviously some fucked up issue he has, getting weepy over songs that nudge him the wrong way.

And then there are the songs that smack him right in the face.

Just last week, "Hey, Hey, What Can I Do," had come on Sam's radio and the minute he heard the first guitar strains seeping out, before the first lyrics were even sung, Sam had shut it off, panting, feeling almost hysterical. Because how many times had Dean played that song while they were driving, that smirk on his face as he glanced over at Sam in the passenger seat and sang, "Wanna tell you about the girl I love, my she looks so fine," while he tapped the beat out on the steering wheel. _Really, it took so little, _Sam had thought in the stillness, after he'd clicked the radio off. _He would've been just so happy to be alive right now, listening to Zep and drinking a beer and, getting some kind of job where he could've worked with his hands, coming home to Lisa and Ben or - whoever - every night. Knowing I was all right, that everyone he cared about was taken care of - _

So, yeah. The music thing doesn't always go over that well with Sam, but the thing is, he can't really ever tell what song might set him off or for what reasons.

But this right here, Dean's music in Dean's car - that's going to have to be addressed.

Sam inserts the key into the ignition, turns it over without starting the car, and then pushes the first cassette he grabs into the player.

Goddamn, "Over the Hills and Far Away."

Dean's favorite closet Zeppelin tune. Sam used to harass him about it, tell him it was too mellow for Dean to like but Dean didn't care what Sam said, would just flip him off and crank it up louder.

And Sam hadn't minded. It was one of the few songs he and Dean had both liked.

But now, hearing it in this time and in this place, Sam's ready to pull it out of the tape player and fling it out the fucking window.

He doesn't, though. Because it's like a car accident he can't look away from. The words, the music, the memories of Dean in this very spot, driving this fucking car, listening to this fucking song - the sight of him in Sam's head, how something so small and meaningless like this goddamn Led Zeppelin song playing at top volume could make Dean so fucking happy.

Or at least as happy as Dean could be, given the life they'd been leading, how awful it had been.

He reaches over to yank it out, get the damn thing out of there, but doesn't get past getting his fingers on the eject button.

_It's okay, Sam. It'll be okay. Promise._

It's not some voice that puts these words in Sam's head, he could never say that, even once he thinks about it, but more a feeling inside him, in his spirit if he's going to get all technical about it. Something that runs right through him, that tells him it's okay if he listens to this music, that it's even okay if he listens to it and cries, or throws something or just fucking - feels - anything.

_If he just fucking lets go._

What the fuck? Let go of Dean? Never happen. Not in a million years.

Not let go of Dean. Of what happened to him. Your part in it.

_You had no part in it, Sam. You just need to let go._

Sam gasps then, yanks the tape out and drops it onto the seat.

Because it's too fucking weird right now - all of this, listening to Dean's music and hearing - well, not Dean's voice, not exactly, but feeling _something _about Dean while all this is going on - and Sam can only take so much at one time.

One thing is certain, though. He knows he's going to keep the music. All of it.

**/**

"Okay, what about this?"

It's Friday night and Sam and Bobby are in Bobby's living room, still poking through Dean's things. John's journal, specifically. After thumbing through it, Sam's decided to leave it with Bobby and his massive book collection. He takes the pictures out, the pictures Jenni gave them in Lawrence, and a couple of other pics that Dean had, mainly for I.D. purposes and the note Dean had written after he'd left Cicero that last time, but other than those things, Sam doesn't want the journal itself, doesn't need it.

Bobby's holding up the Indian blanket from Julia, Dean's nurse in Oklahoma. "You want this?"

Sam remembers her giving it to him that next day, when he'd signed all the papers, taken care of all the arrangements for the "funeral" and getting Dean's body back to Illinois. She'd handed him Dean's clothes, the amulet and the blanket, which had momentarily confused him. "This is your's -"

"I really - gave it to Dean," she had answered. ""Because of how much he said he was looking forward to seeing the Grand Canyon. You should keep it, Sam."

"No, I can't," he'd said. It was the last damn thing he wanted, some blanket that reminded him of yet one more fucking thing that Dean wasn't going to have or get to do. "That's nice of you but-"

"Take it," she'd said again, pushing the folded blanket into his hands. "Some day, you'll go to the Grand Canyon, Sam. I know you can't think about that now, but some day it'll be one of those things you'll want to do. For your brother. So take it and try not to lose sight of those things you can still do to - remember him."

She really hadn't given him much of a choice, and he'd been so desperate to end the entire exchange that he'd blindly taken the blanket from her, along with the rest of Dean's possessions and thrown them into the back of the Impala. The last time he'd been inside Dean's car had when Bobby had driven them from Oklahoma to Illinois for the funeral. Sam had been in such a daze then, he hadn't even really noticed driving around in Dean's car without Dean - but he knew, after the funeral, that he couldn't be alone in it, driving it around like before so he'd asked Bobby to take it back to South Dakota, which he'd done without hesitation. Sam had bought that piece-of-shit, dusky purple rusting Corolla, complete with a stick shift and everything. He'd paid five hundred bucks for a car with over a hundred thousand miles on it because it was the first car Sam found that was the exact opposite of Dean's, one he thought he could drive around in without losing his shit.

Now, Sam looks at the blanket Bobby's holding, remembers Julia's words about seeing the Grand Canyon some day. Without Dean. _Goddamn it, why is this so fucking hard? _Sam thinks. It's been over a year and it's still right there, in his face, everywhere he goes. The car and the music and people yelling, "Sam," in the middle of the street and even this blanket that should mean absolutely nothing to him but does, because even after all this time has passed, every damn thing reminds him of Dean, and Dean not being here.

"Why do you think this is still so hard for me?" The words just slip out; Sam hasn't meant to ask this. But he can't help it - the seeming endless weight of it all never seems to let up, not even a little. "I mean, compared to - after Dean went to Hell. It seems like I got used to not having him around so much easier then."

Bobby doesn't try to hide the doubt on his face. "I don't remember it that way at all. How can you say you handled it better? It's a year out and you're working, making plans to go to school, meeting people. You're _living, _Sam. Whatever it was that you were doing when Dean went to Hell, it wasn't that."

"I don't feel like I'm living," Sam says. And he doesn't. Some days are better than others, but he still has yet to get through more than one day where he doesn't feel like he could fly apart at some point, if he were to allow himself. "I feel like I'm dragging myself through everything. And just barely that."

"Normal," Bobby says. His voice is gruff, and Sam wonders if it's for his sake, as well as Sam's. "You miss him. He was the biggest part of your life for a long time. You've been through stuff together people could never even fathom. I think it would be crazy if you _didn't _still feel this way."

If only the words could make him feel a little better. "But why didn't I feel this - grief or whatever - when Dean went to Hell?"

"Gee, Sam, maybe because you were messing around with a demon and sucking down demon blood every chance you got?" Bobby says. He steps forward, hands him the blanket. "Guess what? All that shit you were doing then? Covered up any pain you might've felt. Now? This is the real thing. The _right _thing. It's okay if thinking about Dean right now makes you feel bad. At least you're feeling _something _this time."

"Jesus, I really did him wrong back then." It's the first time Sam has admitted this out loud, and really understood it, how despicable his behavior had been during that time. He shakes his head. "I just hope -"

"He did," Bobby says. "If there's one thing Dean had made his peace with, it was you." He pulls something out of his pocket and Sam can see it's Dean's phone. "This?"

Sam looks at it long and hard. It wasn't so very long ago that he longed for this very thing - Dean's phone with Dean's damn voice on it. He has no doubt that if he would've had it, Sam would've listened to the voice mail endlessly.

The car. The music. Dean's shirt. The pictures. And now the blanket.

Somehow, those things seem like they'll be enough.

"I - no," Sam says. "You can - take care of it." He can't bring himself to say, "get rid of it" even though that's what he means.

"Done," Bobby says. And while he doesn't say anything else, there's something in his eyes that Sam can see, a flash of something that might just be a hint of relief.

**/**

Sam ends up driving the Impala back to Boston.

He knows he's going to do it when he lies down for sleep even though he hasn't actually voiced a formal commitment to it. But he's up early on Saturday, Bobby with him, again making coffee like he already knows what Sam's going to do. "Next Christmas," is the last thing he tells Sam. "No excuses. I want your goofy mug gracing my dinner table."

And Sam smiles a little, thinking about it. "Castiel going to be here again?"

Bobby rolls his eyes. "I suppose somebody has to take pity on the poor bastard. Might as well be me. Us."

Sam thinks he'll be ready to spend a holiday with people - Bobby and Castiel - by then, and he nods his assent. "I'll see if I can get the time off," he says. Whatever happens, it'll be worth seeing Cas and Bobby sharing Christmas dinner together.

The drive back to Boston goes better than he expects. He doesn't feel weird or awful, though to be fair, it's not like he has a whole lot of time to think about Dean or driving his car or much of anything else. He's driving like a freaking bat out of hell and Sam will still be cutting it close to make it back to Boston by Monday morning.

He only stops for gas and food, and he gets lucky in that he doesn't run into any traffic or weather snafus, and he manages to just make it into the city right at the start of rush hour.

He can't go home, he's got nowhere to park the car - something he's going to have to deal with as soon as he's done with work.

But instead of being irritated or upset, he has to smile. Already, Dean's car is being a pain in his ass, almost more trouble than it's worth.

Like Dean in some ways.

And, though Sam would have never thought it possible, it feels kind of good to have it here despite all the hassles.

He ends up parking it in the visitors lot at the hospital and making it into the locker room with twenty minutes to spare. He should be exhausted, he's just driven straight though from South Dakota to Boston but he feels good in a way he hasn't felt for a long time.

Like he's taken care of some important business and come out on the right side.

He takes a quick shower, gets dressed in his scrubs, grabs coffee, dashes over to the nurses station. "I need a phone book," he says, to no one in particular. He begins rummaging around for one, smiles his thanks when Sharon, the unit secretary hands one to him and randomly opens it up. "What are you looking for?" she asks him.

"I need to find a place that'll let me park a car - preferably inside, like an indoor parking garage," Sam says. He has no idea where to begin, what to look under and briefly wonders if he should just wait until his break to look online.

"You bought a car?" Jillian, one of the other nurses asks. It probably seems crazy when they've heard about the hassles he had with the Toyota and how he didn't mind getting rid of it and using the T.

"Yeah. No. I have my brother's car - I brought it back from South Dakota this weekend. I need to find a place where I can keep it. You guys know of anywhere that I can store it that won't take up my entire paycheck?"

"Do you mind coming out to West Roxbury to get to it?" Randi asks. "Because if you don't, I've got room in my garage."

Sam doesn't even know where West Roxbury is, but if it were a hundred miles away he'd be fine with it. "Really?" he asks. "How much would you want for the space?"

She seems insulted by that. "Nothing. There's nothing to charge you for. It would just be your car sitting in my garage, right?"

"Yeah, but I still think I should pay you something for it - the space I'm taking up or whatever."

"Why? I've got all this extra room and you need it. I'd feel like I was ripping you off."

Sam's aware that everyone else is watching them go back and forth, and his face grows a little warm. "Well, if you're serious," he says. "Then that would be great. I have it sitting down in the visitors parking lot right now."

"All right," Randi says. "After work you can follow me home. We'll have to stop and get my daughter from school first. Is that okay?"

"Fine," Sam says, and it is. He's got nowhere to be and he's just happy he's going to have somewhere to put the car.

Though, throughout the day, when he has a moment, Sam wonders about things. He knows Randi has a daughter, had heard her and Jillian talking about her, but he wonders about the empty garage and the not having to check with a husband about whether or not it would be a good idea for some stranger to keep his car at the house.

It would appear that he knows as little about Randi as she does about him.

Everything goes according to plan, he and Randi leave at three and Sam follows her first to her daughter's school and then out to her house in West Roxbury. It's not far at all and he can't believe his good fortune once again. It's exactly as she said - a double garage with plenty of room for Dean's car.

"I usually leave mine out during the summer anyway," Randi tells him, after she's introduced him to her daughter. "But I imagine you'll want it left in the garage as much as possible seeing what good shape it's in."

"Maybe just in the winter," Sam says. "It's been left out before. Plenty. I'll get another set of keys made and leave them with you in case you need to move it for some reason."

He hasn't had time to take anything out of the car, hasn't even been home yet. "Sorry," he apologizes. He pulls out his stuff, the blanket, Dean's shirt, tries to scoop up Dean's tapes. "I would've cleaned this stuff out but I didn't even go home before I came to work this morning."

"It's okay," Randi says. "Jenna, run inside and grab a plastic bag for Sam, would you?"

The girl scampers off and Sam stops what he's doing for a minute. "I really can't thank you enough for letting me keep the car here," he says. "I didn't know what I was going to do otherwise."

"Oh, it's really no problem," Randi says. She peers inside. "So, this is your brother's car. It's really nice. You don't see a lot of cars like this around."

"Yeah, this was his baby," Sam says. "We - it was totaled a few years back in an accident and he rebuilt it from scrap."

"Sounds like your brother was good with cars."

"He was." Sam leans over, pops open the glove box. He's moving and doing things before he even realizes it. He pulls out the papers he's brought from John's journal, shakes out the photos and fingers one out, hands it to her. "This is Dean."

She takes it from him, studies it and they're both silent for a moment. "He doesn't really look like you," she says, and when she looks over at Sam, she's smiling.

He's somewhat surprised at that - usually everyone comments on how good looking Dean is. Was. "No," Sam agrees. He comes and stands next to her, takes a look at the picture with her. "When we were kids I was a runt and then, after I got the kidney transplant I got bigger than him and everything. But yeah, we don't really look anything alike."

She looks back at the picture for a minute, really studies it. "He looks serious here, but you can still see he has a kind face."

Again. Not what most people usually say about Dean. And while it's true and he isn't smiling in this picture - not that he had occasion to smile all that often - Sam knows what she means. No matter how hard Dean looked, how world-worn he was, there was something in his face that always came across, some kind of compassion or empathy. Because he knew things that just about everyone else walking the planet didn't - how life could be taken in the blink of an eye before someone even knew what was happening. "He _was_ kind. Always thought of everyone else first." He looks back down at the picture for a moment because he can't say anything else.

Really, wasn't that who Dean was?

"He sounds like a great guy, Sam." She smiles, hands him back the photo.

Jenna comes back then, waving the plastic bag at them. "I got it," she says. "I got a bigger one so the blanket will fit." She notices the picture Sam's still holding. "Who's that picture of?"

"Jenna -"

Jenna looks over at her mom and freezes. "No, it's fine," Sam says. He flips the picture around so she can see it better. "This is my brother, Dean. The one who used to own the car."

She peers at the picture, much as her mother had done. "He looks like a soldier," she says. "Was he?"

_If you only knew, _Sam thinks. "No," he says. "He wasn't a soldier like you're thinking. But he - did a lot of things in his life that helped a lot of people."

"My daddy was a soldier."

Randi is looking decidedly uncomfortable. "Her daddy had short hair like that," she says. "Your brother probably reminds her of him that way."

All the past tense usage hasn't escaped Sam, but he won't ask, not when Randi's been so good about not prying about Dean. "He was a combat medic in Iraq," Randi goes on, answering Sam's unspoken question. "He died three years ago."

Sam is shocked though he shouldn't be, given how it all suddenly rushes to him, how she's been able to sense where he's at with his grief, how she's somehow known when to inch forward or back off with him. "I'm sorry," he says. "I had no idea."

"No, of course you didn't," she says. She smoothes Jenna's hair but keeps her eyes on Sam. "But it's only fair to tell you, I think - I mean, you told me about Dean and you're going to be keeping your car here and - it just seemed like the right time to say something."

Something passes through Sam at her words, some nameless thing that has to do with knowing and sudden understanding. He wants to say more - so much more - things about how hard all of this is, questions about losing someone who sacrifices himself, things having to do with making sure people know what a hero really is - all these things are things Sam sees himself talking about with her, someone who has been where he's at - but he knows it will have to wait. His exhaustion is catching up with him, Jenna is here and it's getting late.

They drive him back to his place just as the sky is beginning to go purple and it's all Sam can do not to fall asleep on the drive back. "Are you going to be okay?" Randi asks. "I mean, when's the last time you slept?"

"I'll be fine," Sam says. He smiles to himself, thinking of how many times he and Dean drove with little or no sleep, how maybe one day he'll have to sit down with her and let her in on some of their road trips. "I'm going to go home and just sleep until I have to come to work tomorrow."

And the thing is? Sam knows he'll be fine. He's tired and it's been a hugely emotional past few days and he's got a lot of Dean's stuff with him and any time before this that would've been a recipe for disaster, just the right combo to send his grief raging to the surface.

But tonight, when Sam lets himself into his apartment all he is is tired and ready to fall into bed. And maybe a little bit hungry. And possibly a bit thankful - though he'll have to think about that one for a bit - to have Dean's things with him. He's grateful that Randi found it worth her time and offered him a place to put Dean's car for awhile because it feels damn good to Sam that someone is offering a hand in goodwill and friendship - things he knows are out there but hasn't had the will to pursue until now.

But mostly, he's just glad to be back home.

Something he'd never thought he'd ever feel.

**/**

On occasion, Castiel will show up out of nowhere - not in the middle of the room like he used to but at Sam's door, knocking on it proper and then having to wait until it's answered, just like everyone else. He stays a few hours at most, just to "check-in," as Sam's come to think of these little visits, and he wonders if this is something Dean asked Cas to do, keep tabs on him to make sure he's okay.

The first time this happens, Sam thinks something bad has happened - to Bobby specifically - and he's almost afraid to talk to him, afraid of what he might hear, because it's unheard of that Cas would just pop in unannounced without bearing some kind of terrible news.

But after the initial visit, Sam gets used to it, welcomes it actually, and after his visit to Bobby's he actually calls Castiel himself, leaves a message on his voicemail that he has some questions he wants to ask and within two days Cas is at his door. Sam can't help but smile to himself a little - because as used to Castiel and his angelic ways that he's become, he knows he'll always be floored by how Cas will show up without luggage or anything most people would bring when they go on a visit somewhere.

"You said you had some questions?" These are the first words out of Castiel's mouth when Sam opens the door and Sam shakes his head a little. Someone really needs to give him some lessons in etiquette.

"Yeah, I did," Sam says, letting him in. "But I didn't mean for you to necessarily come here in person. You could've just called me back."

"Should I leave and then call you?"

"No, of course not," Sam says. "It's good to see you. Where were you when I called?"

"I'm in Virginia right now. Manassas."

"Virginia," Sam says. "What's there?"

"It's a very beautiful place, Sam. I like the weather. And I find I enjoy my work there immensely."

"Work? What work?" Sam hasn't even given thought to how Castiel might be supporting himself or what he's doing with all his free time. He has a hard time imagining Cas fitting in with the normal workaday world.

"I'm - apprenticing at a funeral home. Learning all aspects of that - trade, I guess you'd call it."

"What?" Though why Sam is shocked by this, he has no idea. "Isn't that a little - gruesome? I mean, given how much death you've had to be around and all?"

"I find the work - gives me a sense of peace," Castiel says. He's looking around Sam's room, as if trying to decide something. "There's a - comfort in preparing people for that last journey. Plus, I seem to have a certain - flair for dealing with people in their bereavement." He looks back at Sam. "Or so I've been told."

He certainly seemed to be helpful to Dean those last days, Sam thinks, and he's once again reminded of what he wants to ask. "I could see that," he agrees. "It's probably one of the few jobs I can actually see you - doing well in."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Good. That's how I meant it." Sam pulls out one of the chairs from the table. "Here, why don't you sit. Do you want something to drink? Are you hungry?"

Castiel removes his coat - and Sam is pretty sure this a first, seeing Castiel take that coat off like a normal person - but remains standing. "I'm fine," Cas says. "What are your questions?"

Yeah, Sam has time to think. What I wouldn't give to have a video of that Christmas dinner between him and Bobby, what the conversation was like. "I have a couple questions about - Dean."

"I'm listening."

Sam clears his throat, plunges in. "I was at Bobby's a few weeks ago," he says. "I cleaned out Dean's car while I was there. Went through some stuff. Mostly his music, but some other things he had. And I - I felt something, I think. Something about Dean."

Castiel doesn't say anything, just waits.

"Like he might've been trying to - tell me something," Sam goes on. "Maybe give me a message? Or - something -" His voice trails off then, both at Castiel's lack of response and his own doubts about what he's trying to get at.

Still, Cas stays silent.

"Do you think he's - all right?" And before Castiel can say anything, Sam rushes on. "But I don't want you to tell me anything - specific. No - messages that he's feeling this way or that way. Just - do you think he's okay or not?"

"I know he's okay," Castiel says.

"You - can feel him? He's tried to contact you?"

"Of course not. And I'm not going to be able to "feel" Dean, at least not in the sense you mean. You won't feel him either," Castiel says. "Because he's not here. He's - made it to the other side. He's at peace, Sam. He doesn't have any unfinished business here or a troubled spirit or is caught between anything. Anything you feel is purely - your own thoughts." He looks at Sam then, gives that penetrating look that he can still muster despite the fact that he's lost all his angel juice and is, for all intents and purposes, more human than angel. "He's all right and he knows you're going to be all right. He would have no need to contact you."

"But I don't get it. How do you - I - we - know he's okay then?"

And for the first time he can ever remember, Sam sees what he thinks qualifies as a smile cross Castiel's face. "Because," he says. "You go on what you've seen before, things that have come to pass in other - instances."

"Previous experiences?"

Castiel smiles a little more. "That, and something even more important."

This time it's Sam who waits.

"Your faith."

**/**

May second, and Sam's twenty-ninth birthday comes complete with a cake at work and a rousing, more-than-flat rendition of "Happy Birthday," and an evening phone call from Bobby. It's more than Sam would've had if it would've just been him marking the day but it's also a huge step up from the year before when he'd been driving around in the pile-of-crap Corolla, looking for a place to park so he could buy a bottle of cheap - anything - to drink and then crash.

A huge improvement, really.

But despite the progress, it's still hard. A year and a half out, and Sam still misses Dean just as much as at the beginning. Some days, even more, if Sam's honest with himself. There will still be moments where Sam will hear something, something mentioned, and he'll think, "I need to remember to tell Dean that," and the thought will slice right through him at what he's just done, how he still aches for Dean to be here with him, to have just one more minute with him.

But for now, for today, Sam's not in that place and he knows enough to be grateful for it. After he gets through talking to Bobby he sits down in front of the computer, opens up his files that he's simply labeled, "Dean."

He begins typing.

**Hi, Cassie how are you? It's Sam Winchester again. Sorry I haven't gotten back to you sooner but there are things I've been busy with, both personal and at work. Anyway, I hope all is well with you and I wanted to let you know that I think I am ready to start putting something together about Dean. I still don't really know how it's all going to work, how I'll do it, but I think I have enough - material to get started.**

This is an understatement. Every single person that Sam has contacted so far has answered him. Diane Ballard and Kathleen Hudek are two who answer his email almost right away, both expressing sadness at Dean's death and offers to help any way they can, whatever Sam wants them to do. Mara Daniels and the Collins siblings in Colorado. Sarah and the Pikes and Lucas and Andrea. He'd even gotten a phone call from Lisa Braeden one day - all of them responding to the email Sam sent out on Dean's birthday - January 24th, another horrible day - or at least a day that could've ended up horrible if Sam hadn't kept sight of the mission and forged ahead.

That mission being keeping Dean's memory alive, introducing him to those who deserve - need - to know about the things he's done, what he gave up.

The hero he was.

Every response Sam had received had been an offer to help, or a loving testimonial to what Dean had done for them.

"_Sam I am so sorry Dean passed away - thank you for letting me know. You must be devastated but of course, knowing the good things you and he did while he was alive must be a huge comfort to you -"_

"_We'll never forget what you and Dean did for us so whatever you need me to do, just ask. We'd love to help any way we can."_

"_Dean saved our lives. There's no price that can be put on that. I'm so sorry you lost him, Sam, but I am also sure he's been rewarded for all that he's done, all the fruits that have come from his labors. I'd be happy to help you make a tribute to him when you figure out what you want to do."_

"_We were so shocked by your email - but so very glad you told us so we could remember one more time how grateful we are to you and Dean for what you did not only for us but for the countless others you've no doubt saved. Just say the word when you want us to help you with your project."_

Sam rereads these emails on nights when he struggles with everything, and while he had hoped a couple people would be willing to help in his endeavor to keep Dean's memory alive, he hadn't expected the quick outpouring of support and sympathy from everyone he's contacted so far. Really, he hadn't expected some of these people to even remember Dean.

And this is just the people Sam's been able to contact so far. He still has a list of people who he needs to either find a phone number or email address for, but for now, he thinks he's contacted enough people to get things started.

**Anyway - I'll forward you some of the emails that people have sent me and you can tell me what you think and how I should maybe go about doing this. I might not be able to go super quickly on this - I'm taking the MCAT's in Sept. so I need to get ready for that and there are a couple of science classes I still need to take before I apply to med school, but I'll make the time to do this because it's really important to me.**

He's in a very different place now, than he was on his previous birthday, where Sam couldn't have imagined sending emails out to everyone about Dean and wanting to think about writing something about everything Dean has done. A year ago, Sam's birthday passed unacknowledged, just another day without any meaning or even any hope.

Sam sits in front of the computer, idly fingering the keys to the Impala on the desk in front of him. Tomorrow after work he's going out to Randi's to take it for a drive, make sure it's running okay. He's been out there a couple of times since bringing the car there to do just that, get in and drive it just to let it run.

The first time he went alone but the second time Randi and Jenna came with him and they'd ended up stopping for ice cream. It was almost like a date.

But it wasn't.

Just like tomorrow, when Sam goes to their house and takes the car out and then stays for dinner. That's almost like a date as well.

Except it's not.

Randi had asked him if he wanted to come out today and Sam knows why she did it. She understands that it's his birthday and wants to make sure he'll be okay and all. It's the whole friends thing and for right now, Sam could use a friend, and she's been a good one to have.

But today, Sam doesn't want to be with a friend, he wants to be with Dean, so he comes home and rereads the emails and looks at the pictures and takes the Indian blanket out of the closet and lays it across the foot of his bed.

Tomorrow will be soon enough for Sam to go and be with other people.

So many things Dean has taught him over the years, some obvious and some that weren't revealed until the time was right.

Everything Dean has ever shown Sam has been important, but it's only now that Sam is beginning to realize that the most important thing Dean's ever taught him is that giving up and letting go are two vastly different things, that the one will keep you in chains while the other will set you free.

Sam is slowly beginning to let go.

And somehow, he knows - no, despite what Castiel says - _can feel _- that Dean approves.


End file.
